


Hey Stupid

by verfound



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Ch5 - Angst Bomb, Couffaine Siblings, Dammit Quick, Endgame Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, F/M, Fashion Week, Gift Fic, IDENTITY SHENANIGANS, LBSC SA 2021, LBSC Secret Admirer, Light Angst, Lovebugs and Snake Charmers, Luka Couffaine is a Fucking Idiot, Makeup Artist Luka Couffaine, Mistaken Identity, Ok Angstier than I thought?, Post-Canon, Straight-Up Dumbasses, Ten Years Later, They're stupid your honor, sorry y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verfound/pseuds/verfound
Summary: When Marinette’s makeup artist gets injured the day before her first Fashion Week, she’s a little desperate.  Luckily, Juleka knows just the guy to save the day, and Marinette is so relieved she doesn’t question it – until she realizes she’s spent the past week flirt…admiring Luka Couffaine and never even recognized him.
Relationships: Luka Couffaine/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 151
Kudos: 151
Collections: 2021 Exchange, Crikey!  A Wild Dingo has Appeared!





	1. Prologue: Missed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quickspinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quickspinner/gifts).



> …hey. Hey, Quick. Remember when you said you were wondering if I was your Secret Admirer, and I started tap dancing faster than Fred Astaire trying to (very poorly, I’m sure) throw you off my track? xD DID IT WORK AT ALL? 😂 (Spoiler alert: Luka is not actually her hair guy and I’m totally your Secret Admirer. xD)
> 
> Anywhoodles~ This was written for the LBSC Valentine’s Day Secret Admirer Exchange 2021, for the wonderful Quickspinner, who had this lovely prompt about “Makeup Artist Luka AU” that bit me harder than a rabid plunny in the zombpocalypse, so I guess this also counts as a Dammit Quick Fic, right? (Our word minimum this year is 1500. I clearly overshot that by…a bunch. xD)
> 
>  **Quick’s full prompt, for posterity:** Makeup Artist Luka AU - This could be a first meeting or reuniting after a long separation. Luka agrees to fill in for a makeup artist who's supposed to working on an upcoming fashion show. It's not his primary line of work (he's still trying to make it as a musician) but he's good enough at it that he takes a job here and there to make ends meet or get a little extra cash. It can go so many possible directions from there that I can't even pick one for an example.

She was late.

She couldn’t be late.

She was _so late_.

Marinette groaned and pumped her legs harder, praying to every deity she could think of (and she knew of at least seventeen hiding in her bedroom) that she would make it in time. She was so _stupid!_ How could she have let this happen? She had stayed up too late the night before working on Luka’s good…on his care package, and she had _overslept_ , and now…

She was never going to make it.

There was an incessant buzzing in her back pocket – her phone – but she ignored it and kept running. Why did she live so far away from the river? Why couldn’t she run faster?

“Breathe, Marinette! You’ll make it!” Tikki shouted from her collar. The kwami had abandoned the purse swinging wildly against her hip early into the mad dash. “You know he won’t leave without saying goodbye!”

…he wouldn’t. She knew he wouldn’t. But Tikki reminding her of that fact – of actually using the darn G-word – only made her feel worse. She grit her teeth and pushed herself harder. She was _Ladybug_ , dang it – she was not about to miss the bus just because she had overslept!

Especially when there would be no Luka on his bike to help her catch it this time. Not when he’d already be on it.

She choked on a relieved sob when she rounded the next corner and saw Jagged Stone’s obnoxious purple tour bus still parked on the street above the riverwalk. There was a small cluster of people by the doors, ones she would recognize anywhere: Jagged and Penny lingering back as they spoke with the Captain, Juleka and Rose standing with Brielle off to the side, and the obnoxious lime-colored mohawk of Dingo King obscuring Luka’s face as he clung to him, wailing.

He hadn’t left yet.

She hadn’t missed him.

She never thought she’d say it, but she could kiss Dingo King.

“…can’t leave!” she heard Dingo shout, even at this distance. “I don’t care if he is Jagged fucking Stone – if he don’t bring you back safe and soon I’ll fucking murder him!”

Jagged gave an annoyed shout, but from the bob of his shoulders she could see Luka was laughing. His hand came up to pat at Dingo’s back, and then Dingo was pulling away and…there he was. He said something to Dingo that had them both laughing before he pulled him in for another hug, his hand thumping against his back three times.

“C’mon, kid – we gotta jet!” Jagged called, but Anarka slapped the back of his head and scolded him (Marinette assumed, because at least that looked like the Captain’s Scolding Face). He fussed over his hair and shot her a pout.

“You can’t go yet, though!” Rose cried, her thumbs flying a mile a minute over her phone. In her back pocket, her own phone continued to buzz away. “Not until…she’s not here yet! You can’t leave until she gets here!”

Penny said something that Marinette should have been close enough to hear, but Luka had looked back at Rose – or had started to, until he’d seen her barreling towards him and stepped back from Dingo. His face split in a blinding smile that thoroughly distracted her, and without thinking she ran those final few steps, shoved Dingo aside (by shoving the care package she’d been carrying all this way at him), and leapt at Luka. He staggered back, bracing himself and laughing as he easily caught her, his arms holding her close as her arms and legs wrapped around him. She pressed her face against his shirt, panting as her nose squished against his chest.

“I…made it…” she gasped. She felt his chuckle more than she heard it, and her hands fisted against his shoulders as she squeezed him tight. “So…sorry…”

“You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t showing up at the last minute,” he teased, and her answering laugh was still a little breathless. She pinched his shoulder, making him chuckle again.

“Jerk,” she said, but she didn’t really mean it. She never really did, and he knew that.

“I wouldn’t have let him leave without seeing you,” he said.

“You would if we’re keeping our _schedule_ ,” Penny said, but she winked at Marinette over his shoulder, making her smile. Luka just chuckled and held her tighter.

“We’d be stopping by the bakery, then,” he insisted, and Penny rolled her eyes as she muttered something about a _Mini-Jagged in Training, God Help Me_.

“I overslept,” Marinette said, ignoring her. She leaned back, and one of his arms settled under her butt to support her. She kept her arms around his shoulders and tried to smile at him. It was harder than it usually was. “I stayed up late making you a care package for the road, and –”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said quickly, interrupting her, but she shook her head. She hopped down and took the box from Dingo.

“I did, though,” she said. “This is _just for you_. I mean that, Jagged!” She shot a look towards the rocker, who just grinned at her, and tapped the smaller bakery box on top. “Except for this one. This one’s for Fang.”

“Aw, cruel, baby girl!” Jagged laughed. Marinette’s hands shook as she went to hand the box to Luka. It felt so… _final_. Like giving him the box was admitting…his expression softened when he saw her shaking hands, and she shoved the box at Dingo instead before throwing herself back at him. Her face smooshed against his chest, and he pressed his face against the crook of her neck. Her hair – or maybe it was his – tickled her ear when he took a deep breath, as if he was trying to memorize the scent of her shampoo or perfume or…probably the same way she was breathing him in, trying to memorize that smell of sunblock and Seine and _Luka_.

“…I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, her voice almost breaking. He squeezed her tighter, and the way his lips brushed against her shoulder almost felt like a kiss. It wasn’t, though, because beyond friendly, lingering pecks on the cheek they didn’t Do That. They weren’t…people who kissed.

Despite the _Feelings_ that had always been there, on both their parts, they had never actually made it to becoming _People Who Kissed_. She had always been distracted by Adrien, or busy with Ladybug and school and commissions, or…and he had always respected her choices, choosing to give her time or space or whatever she needed from him, and now he was leaving and it was too late and…

And they’d missed their chance. Before they’d ever really had it. And now he had to leave, and chase a different chance, and…she couldn’t make him stay. She couldn’t stop him from doing that.

She had to let him go.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said softly. “It’s only a few months.”

He was right, of course, but it felt like so much longer. So much more _final_. There was a part of her, no matter how irrational, that was afraid if he got on that bus she would never see him again. But that was _dumb_. This was a great opportunity for him – how could she ever tell him not to take it? He was chasing his dream. She wanted the world for him, and he…

And it wasn’t like they were… _anyway!_ She had no right to tell him to stay. And he was right! He’d be back before she knew it!

The only problem was…she already knew it, and he wasn’t even gone yet.

“Make sure you call me,” she said, pressing her nose against him so hard it almost hurt. The lips against her neck _definitely_ felt like a kiss that time.

“Every day,” he promised, though they both knew that was impractical and not very likely to happen.

“I’ll see you in a few months?” she asked.

“I’ll see you in a few months,” he said. She gave him one final, desperate squeeze and stepped away. She tried to convince herself the burning in her eyes wasn’t from tears. She rubbed at them anyway, laughing weakly when his hands gripped her shoulders and his lips pressed against her forehead.

“I’m gonna miss you so much, Marinette,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her skin. It wasn’t _fair_. They were just…they weren’t…there was so much wasted time between them. So many missed opportunities. There had always been Adrien, or Ladybug, or the Guardian, or…and he had always been there, but she had never told him…and now he was going.

He was chasing his dream. He was going to be a big, famous rock star, sharing his music with the world, and she…she was going to support him, like he had always supported her. Because she loved him, as much as she knew how, and she wouldn’t stand in his way. She wouldn’t make him feel bad for leaving her behind when…no. He would go, but he would come back, and when he did…

“Luka, Marinette…we really do have to go,” Penny said softly. Marinette pulled him in for one final hug, but then she was pulling away, grabbing the box back from Dingo, and shoving it at Luka instead. She gave him the brightest smile she could manage, and his returning smile was enough to make her heart flutter.

“Go on,” she said. “Go…go have the time of your life, ok? And when you get home, you can tell me all about how amazing it is, and how dumb Jagged really is, and…”

“Oi!” Jagged called, but she just stuck her tongue out at him. He winked at her before jogging the rest of the way up the steps of the bus. Marinette lightly punched Luka’s shoulder, nodding towards the bus where Penny was still waiting.

“Go,” she said. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but he just nodded, adjusted the box in his arms, and headed towards the bus. He was halfway up the steps when he paused, looking back over his shoulder at her. The look on his face twisted her heart, but she stood firm. She tightened her fist over her heart and gave him her best smile. His own smile warmed, and then he was turning and disappearing onto the bus.

She didn’t realize the tears had started falling until Dingo handed her a wrinkled bandana, his hand squeezing her shoulder.

“He’ll be back sooner than we’ll know it, baby girl,” he said, and she nodded as she wiped at her eyes, trying not to think too hard about where the bandana had been before Dingo had handed it to her. Within moments, the bus roared to life, and with a jarring blare of its horn it rolled away from the river, from the Liberty, and from Marinette.

She didn’t know it then, of course, but it would be nearly ten years before Marinette Dupain-Cheng would see Luka Couffaine again.


	2. Houston, We Got a Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight years after Luka leaves for tour, Marinette is preparing for her first solo Fashion Week when her makeup guy flakes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic wasn’t even up for twenty-four hours & I went and changed the title. Oops. xD But Quick pointed out how “Hey Stupid” would pair perfectly with “Hey Gorgeous” (have you read it yet? No? You should), and “Call Me Stupid” kept making me sing “Call Me Maybe” and really how could I not? So yes this is the fic temporarily, formerly known as “Call Me Stupid”. Sorry for the confusion. xD
> 
> Also two things: I’m aiming for updates on Sundays and Wednesdays (instead of once a week) bc making Quick wait that long is MEAN, but I’m posting this chapter tonight bc I have an appointment tomorrow that will mean the chapter doesn’t go up until like 8p EST. Also GUYS I SAID ALMOST TEN YEARS. ALMOST. It’s actually eight. xD

Marinette jerked awake, the blaring horn of the car speeding by the window painfully loud in her little studio. She groaned and reached up to rub at her eyes, but she paused when she felt the dampness on her cheeks.

…she had been crying?

She frowned as she pulled her hands away and stared at her fingertips. They were glistening, as damp as they had felt. She blinked slowly, her mind moving sluggishly in that way it always did when you’d abruptly woken from a deep sleep, as she tried to remember what she could have possibly been dreaming about that would make her…

…and then she remembered. A mad, desperate dash followed by an even more desperate hug. Blue eyes watching her fondly as a bus door closed on that chapter of her life. A chapter that had remained largely unfinished. That would probably always remain largely unfinished.

It had been years since she’d thought of Luka Couffaine, let alone dreamed about him.

Well. Ok, that was a lie. Not _years_. Though it had been nearly ten years since she’d seen him, she still thought of him fairly often – especially lately, when world-renowned model and photographer _Julia Stone_ had started working with her. It was easier to let her mind slip into old habits – old daydreams – when she’d been seeing Juleka on an almost daily basis. But Luka…Juleka didn’t talk about Luka after that first day. Marinette had casually asked how he’d been, and Juleka had just as casually answered that he was fine. They’d both let the matter drop after that.

It was…safer that way. She supposed.

When she was sixteen, Luka had completed his BAC and graduated lycée with the world before him. The ink was still drying on his diploma when Jagged Stone had rolled up, offering him the opportunity of a lifetime: now that he was done school and didn’t have to worry about missing classes, he could go on tour with him. It had been as much a peace offering on Jagged’s part – an opportunity to kick-start Luka’s career – as it was an attempt to get to know his estranged son, after Anarka had come clean about the family’s relationship to the eccentric rocker the year before. She remembered Luka hadn’t wanted to go at first, but they had all talked him into it. It was stupid, she remembered arguing, to let the opportunity pass him by based on _principle_. Jagged was extending an olive branch, and regardless of any ulterior motives it was the chance of a lifetime. How could he pass that up? He’d been dreaming of sharing his music with the world his entire life. Jagged was giving him the chance to do that.

Marinette remembered the way Luka had looked at her when she’d said that, like he had had so much more to say but knew she wasn’t ready to hear any of it. And she hadn’t been. Not back then.

There were worlds of unspoken words left between them back then. Things he had never shied away from telling her in the only ways he’d known how, and things she hadn’t been ready to hear because there had always been Something Else. There had been Adrien and her confusion in her feelings between the two boys. There had been Hawkmoth and the weight of her responsibilities as Ladybug. There had been Master Fu and the weight of an entire Miracle Box when he had been forced to declare her the new Guardian before her training had been even close to complete. And there had even been Audrey Bourgeois, appearing in her own life as often as Jagged had started appearing in Luka’s, dying to know when she would finally join her in New York. There had been so many secrets, and so much pressure, and even though she had known he would have suffered it all to support her she had never thought it fair to ask that of him. So even as her feelings for him had grown, she had stayed quiet. She had firmly kept their relationship as strictly friends, even when they’d both wanted more.

And then he’d graduated, and Jagged had offered to take him away. And she had encouraged him, as he’d always encouraged her, because that’s what good friends did. And besides all that, it was never supposed to be forever. He was supposed to come home in a few months, better for the experience and probably leaving again eventually but still _home_.

She had been foolish – naïve, hopeful – enough back then to imagine that’s when she would finally confess to him. That she would be waiting for him with his friends and family when that stupid purple bus rolled in, and that when he stepped off she would rush at him for one of those hugs only he could give, the ones that felt like _home_ , and she would tell him everything. How much she loved him, how much she wanted to be with him, and he would have felt the same. And they would have kissed in the sunset (or maybe sunrise, because it would have been their _Beginning_ , and sunrises always meant beginnings), and they would have gone on to live their Happily Ever After. They would have gotten married, and had a hamster (or a dog – maybe a disabled dog, one that Luka had fallen in love with and she wouldn’t have been able to say no to), and three – maybe even six! – kids, all with dark hair and his eyes.

It would have been the perfect, romantic fairy tale only her sixteen-year-old self could have dreamed up.

It was just…life happened. Like it always does.

They had tried to keep in touch, but Penny and Jagged had kept Luka busy. Then Audrey had insisted that, if Marinette wasn’t willing to join her permanently in New York, she should at least work with her for a few weeks in the summer. Time zones had made communicating difficult, until their phone calls had turned into messages, and eventually even those had petered out to a random text every now and then. She still had two years of lycée to complete, and even when she got back from New York Audrey had kept her involved on the Paris side of things: she had quickly arranged an internship of sorts at Gabriel, working the program around Marinette’s classes to give her as much experience as possible.

“You’re going to be _big_ , Marinette,” Audrey had told her over dinner her last night in New York. “Bigger than Gabriel Agreste himself, I’d expect. Letting all of your raw talent go uncultivated is just bad business sense.”

Audrey had done everything she could to keep Marinette busy after that, making Marinette’s already hectic schedule became even crazier. Audrey had seen her as a protégé and investment, and Gabriel had seemed to agree. They had offered every opportunity to show her how a fashion house was actually run, given her every opportunity to learn the inner workings of the business from the very start. And then the hammer had really dropped, because working that closely with Gabriel Agreste…it had been harder to ignore the suspicions she had had when she was younger, especially as more time had dragged on and Hawkmoth had grown more desperate. He slipped up more. And then, her final year of lycée, everything had hit the fan.

Gabriel Agreste was unmasked as Hawkmoth.

Emilie Agreste was discovered in a stasis pod in his basement lair.

Adrien Agreste was revealed as her partner, Chat Noir.

It had been a lot to deal with, and if she was honest she could have used Luka’s steady support to fall back on during that time. But Luka had never come back from that first tour, even when Jagged had returned to Paris for visits. Or…he had, _once_ , but she had been in New York and had missed him. It had always felt like their final missed chance, in the back of her mind. One gig became the next, and then Luka was releasing an album under the name Luke Stone, and he was just…so busy. They’d both been.

So when Hawkmoth was unmasked and her world started crumbling around her…she never reached out to him, no matter how badly she had wanted – needed – the support he’d always given her. She’d never thought it would be fair of her to put any of that pressure on him when every time she saw a photograph or interview of him he had looked so happy.

So she had dealt with things alone, because after that last battle…well. It hadn’t been pretty. To the world at large, Gabriel had been unmasked as Hawkmoth in a violent showdown at his home. He had perished in the fight, along with his son and assistant. That was close enough to the truth, anyway. The manor had been destroyed, and Gabriel and Nathalie (and Emilie) had been buried in the rubble. She had pulled a crazed Chat from the destruction in the nick of time, but Adrien had never been the same after that. He’d given her back the Black Cat Miraculous, telling her he needed a ‘break’.

The last she’d seen him, he had dyed his hair black and was living in Tokyo with Kagami under the name _Arata_. They still exchanged calls every few months, but Adrien was happier leaving France and the Agreste name behind. She could respect that, but she hadn’t been so lucky. She was Ladybug – she was the Guardian – and she had responsibilities. She couldn’t afford to just…walk away.

At least she had thought she couldn’t. It had taken her a long time to realize she could just… _live_ again. She was still a teenager. She still had friends, and school, and a future career in fashion looming ahead of her. She had still gone on patrols, watching out for any new threats that would rise up to take Hawkmoth’s place – and every now and then something did show up, but for the most part…life had calmed down. She had settled into a rhythm. And life was good.

She passed her BAC with flying colors, graduating near the top of her class once she actually had the time to dedicate to her studies. She had spent the summer after between New York and Paris, working closely with Audrey Bourgeois. In the fall, she’d started at ESMOD. Even as she worked on her degree, she continued working with Audrey, who had swept in and taken over the _Gabriel_ fashion house, renaming it _Bourgeois_. Audrey had offered her a job as a designer before she’d even finished her degree, and the transition from school to work had been seamless. She had worked with Audrey for years by that point, and she continued to work with her a few more, soaking up every bit of experience and making every possible connection until she had finally felt ready to strike out on her own.

Because, ultimately, that was what she had wanted. Audrey was amazing, but Marinette didn’t want to be known under the _Bourgeois_ name. She wanted her own name. She wanted to run things how _she_ liked them, which honestly didn’t always line up with Audrey’s cutthroat, _Your Fired!_ mentality.

Audrey hadn’t been happy to lose such a talented designer, of course, and had done everything she could to keep Marinette under the _Bourgeois_ umbrella. As grateful as she was for the opportunities, Marinette had explained, this was something she had to do herself. She had to make her _own_ design house. And Audrey had, surprisingly, understood, and had even sent Marinette off with her blessing – and funding. (Marinette blamed Chloé on that, who was already on her second child. It seemed becoming a grandmother had done more to soften Audrey’s sharper edges than being a mother ever could.)

MDC Designs was still a young project, but it was doing well. She’d even be attending her first fashion week starting the next day, which was really just practice for the larger _Fashion Week_ she’d be attending in New York in October. Audrey was even backing her as her primary investor.

Life was…life was good. Crazy, and busy, but _good_. Marinette was _happy_. She honestly was.

So why had she suddenly, randomly started dreaming about that last day she had seen Luka Couffaine? Why was she thinking about Luka and _crying?_

She groaned and rubbed at her eyes. She was being _stupid_. Yeah, Luka had always been her _Guy_ , at least in the back of her mind. Her _One That Got Away_. But she remembered him like she’d remember any old crush: fondly, but not…not…she groaned again and dropped her head on her cluttered desk.

It wasn’t like she was still hung up on him or anything. Not like…not like that. She’d dated. Well. She had been on dates, at least. A few. Usually when Audrey had insisted she needed an escort for some event, or that time in university that Alya had insisted she _just needed to loosen up_ (Alya’s exact words had been more crass and had referenced her _V Card_ ), but…nothing had ever really come of them. She had just…never really given herself the time or opportunity. Dating had never seemed important when the weight of Paris, and potentially the rest of the world, was resting on your shoulders. And after Luka…she had never been that interested in any of the guys she had met once she _had_ started looking. Maybe some small part of her heart would always be a little in love with Luka Couffaine, and maybe some small part of her mind had (unfairly) compared every guy she’d dated since to him. They’d all certainly tended to trend in the _Black Hair, Blue Eyes_ category (instead of the _Blond Hair, Green Eyes_ one). But it wasn’t like it was intentional, or that she’d ever willingly admit it even if it was. She had just…always figured she would meet someone eventually, and she would be open to love and romance and a relationship when it happened, but she wasn’t going to drive herself crazy looking for someone. So she had focused on herself, and her career, and she was _happy_.

Happy enough that she shouldn’t be crying over some old what-if she hadn’t even spoken to in nearly ten years, at least.

She groaned again and rubbed a bit harder at her eyes, wiping away the rest of the drying tears. She was just tired. It may not be one of the _big_ Fashion Weeks, but it was still _a_ Fashion Week, and it started tomorrow. There would still be some big names there, especially since she was _the_ Marinette Dupain-Cheng, protégé of _the_ Audrey Bourgeois, and Audrey was publicly backing her. Audrey had told her not to worry too much over things: she was to consider this a dry run for October, nothing more. Audrey expected her to be on point in October.

Except Marinette had never been one to do things halfway, and she expected herself to be _on point_ this week, too. It was still her first solo Fashion Week, and that made it a big deal to her. It had to go _perfectly_. Besides, she’d be debuting her winter line, and if things went well in a few months there could be an MDC original in every boutique in Paris.

She smiled at the thought, trying not to get _too_ excited. She still had to survive this week first. She would be busy nearly every day: she had two smaller shows at the beginning of the week and a big show on Friday, and she would be a part of a compilation showcase on Wednesday. She would also be expected to attend many of the other shows for networking purposes, along with attending various meetings with Audrey to help get her name out there. She’d even be part of a panel Thursday evening about upcoming designers and what they saw in the future of fashion. It was going to be chaotic, but Fashion Week always was.

She couldn’t wait.

She was ready.

“Marinette?”

She looked up at the voice, smiling when she saw her assistant Jocelyn standing in the doorway. In many ways, Jocelyn reminded her of Nathalie Sancoeur. The primary difference was Jocelyn was about a head shorter than Nathalie had been, had blonde hair instead of red-tipped black, and preferred white blouses and charcoal-colored skirts over black pantsuits. She carried herself with the same all-business, no-nonsense air that Nathalie had had, though, and it was rare that Marinette saw her without her tablet or phone in her hand. She had also saved Marinette’s ass more times than she could count by this point: they’d started working together at _Bourgeois_ , and Jocelyn had come with her when she’d left to start her own house.

That had meant more to Marinette than she thought Jocelyn could ever know.

“Hey, Joce,” she said, lifting her arms above her head in a stretch. “Ugh, why’d you let me sleep so long? I don’t know if I feel better or worse now.”

Jocelyn’s lips twitched with a smile, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared.

“You needed the rest, and we had things covered,” she said. She looked back at her tablet, tapping on the screen. “Operative word being _had._ ”

“Oh no…” Marinette groaned, her arms freezing halfway down. She pursed her lips, bracing herself for whatever news Jocelyn had for her. “How bad is it? On a scale of messing up Audrey’s coffee to Fashion Week 2020?”

Jocelyn considered for a moment before saying, “…the Milan photoshoot three years back.”

Which was bad, but not _Fashion Week 2020_ Bad. Very few things could ever be _Anything 2020_ bad. Marinette took a deep breath and turned her chair towards Jocelyn, nodding.

“Ok,” she said. “Lay it on me.”

“Antoine messaged me while you were asleep,” Jocelyn said, looking back at her tablet with pursed lips. Her eyes narrowed at the screen, and Marinette figured she was rereading the message for the twentieth time and imagining every possible way she could murder their usual makeup artist. Antoine was a good guy, really. He did an amazing job, he worked well with her designs, and he was cheap – all things Marinette liked. Like most of her contacts, she’d met him years back while working for _Bourgeois_. He had been assigned to one of her early shoots, and she had immediately fallen in love with his work. He just had this way of magically bringing any design given him to life. Jocelyn, however, had been significantly less impressed. Over their time working with him, Antoine had proven himself to be…not _unreliable_. Flakey? It wasn’t uncommon to get a last-minute cancellation because he’d met a cute guy on the train and had decided to follow him to the next country for a weekend of uncomplicated sex and cheap wine.

Jocelyn thrived on order and schedules, perhaps even more than Marinette herself did. It was part of why they worked so well together. Antoine…did not.

“…don’t say it,” Marinette groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. She could already feel the migraine starting.

“Apparently there was an…accident,” Jocelyn said, her tone clipped. “Something involving a spin class and a hot new instructor.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at that.

“Is…is he ok?” she asked. She was almost afraid to hear the answer. The last time there had been a _hot new instructor_ at his gym, Antoine had ended up in the hospital for a week.

“He will be,” Jocelyn sniffed. She lowered her tablet, and Marinette almost laughed at her pinched expression. She looked _exactly_ like Nathalie in moments like these. “He broke both legs.”

“He _what?!_ ” Marinette squeaked. Jocelyn rolled her eyes.

“He was showing off, and he broke both of his legs,” she repeated. “He’ll be fine, but clearly he won’t be able to work this week. He’s not even leaving the hospital until Tuesday.”

“Oh my God,” Marinette groaned. She rubbed at her face again, nodding as her brain tried to catch up. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it definitely put them in a bind. Jocelyn liked to think that makeup was just makeup, but Marinette knew better. The wrong shade of eyeshadow could clash with the lighting and completely throw off a look, and it was little details like that that could completely derail a show. Marinette could do the makeup herself, but it would be difficult with the time restraints and the million and one other things she’d have to do to prepare her models. She took a slow, deep breath, keeping her hands over her eyes. “Ok. Options. Who do we have on retainer?”

“No one,” Jocelyn said. Marinette tried not to scream. She lowered her hands enough that she could look at Jocelyn over her fingertips. “It’s Fashion Week, Marinette. Everyone is either otherwise employed or out of the country at another show. Unfortunately, this close to the start, even the two artists I had as emergency retainers have accepted jobs with other houses, and neither will be available on the days needed.”

“Do we trust anyone else working our circuit?” she asked, biting her lip. “Do we know anyone else who’ll be able to maybe squeeze in a few models?”

“No one I’d trust,” Jocelyn said. “That idiot that used to work for XY will be working the show after yours tomorrow, but he doesn’t know the difference between foundation and bronzer. I would definitely not recommend using him.”

“…shit,” Marinette hissed. She spun in her chair, finally screaming as the rolling chair moved in dizzying circles. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“…bad time?” a soft voice asked from the door. Marinette and Jocelyn looked up to see Juleka standing there, and despite the more immediate, pressing matters Marinette felt her heart flutter in her chest. Seeing Juleka just reminded her of her dream, of…

_What the hell had been up with that, anyway?_ It’s not like she’d heard anything from him lately. _Luke Stone_ hadn’t even released any music in four years, not since…she immediately stopped that train of thought, refusing to think of the last single Luke Stone had released. The one that had gone platinum almost overnight. The one about unrequited or broken love, about missing the one who got away, about…she’d never been told anything to confirm it, but for anyone who knew him and her and their history, certain lines in that damn song were _very_ telling.

Marinette knew Luke Stone’s last single was all about her, and it broke her heart every time she heard it.

Juleka, completely ignorant of Marinette’s internal meltdown (or just attributing it to whatever had her freaking out when she’d walked in, if she did notice), walked over to the radio, which was still playing in the background, and clicked it off. Marinette’s eyes widened. _Of course_. That had to be it – the radio had played one of his songs, and her subconscious had recognized his voice, even in her sleep, and had replayed that memory for her. That had to be it. It was probably even _That Song_ , and she’d been so exhausted the past few weeks…of course it had brought things up. It made sense, right? It wasn’t like she was actually, _actively_ missing him or anything. It wasn’t like…

“Marinette?” Juleka asked, and Marinette shook her head as her old friend frowned at her.

“Sorry,” she said, slapping on the brightest smile she could manage. “Joce just informed me our makeup artist is out of commission for this week. Bad gym accident, apparently. We’re…a little screwed.”

“Of course he had to do this the _day before we need him_ ,” Jocelyn sniffed, tapping angrily at her tablet again. “When everyone else would be otherwise occupied. We were trying to find a replacement when you walked in. You’re here for your final fitting, correct?”

“Yeah,” Juleka said. She looked back at Marinette, that unreadable expression still on her face. Marinette shrugged a little helplessly.

“Trouble is everyone else is either working one of the other shows or out of town,” she said. “So…we’re screwed. I could…I could probably do it myself, but…”

She threw her head back and groaned again, kicking her foot against the floor to send her chair spinning.

“We’ll figure _something_ out,” Jocelyn sighed, tapping away at her tablet. She gestured to a rack with a few garment bags hanging on it off to the side. “Your clothes are over there. Get changed, and Marinette will make the final adjustments.”

Juleka didn’t move to the rack, though. Not that either of them immediately noticed.

“…I might be able to help. I know a guy,” Juleka said, catching their attention. They both looked up to find her typing on her phone. There was a little frown on her face, and she rolled her eyes before she continued to type. She nodded once and glanced up at Marinette. “What time do you need him there?”

“Ah…our show starts at two fifteen, and we’ve got five models, so factoring in…how quick is he? Antoine usually needs maybe two hours for the more complicated looks. Sometimes three,” Marinette said, wincing slightly. Juleka’s eyebrows rose a little higher, her almost perpetual frown turning into a smirk. She started typing again.

“He’s pretty good,” she said. “He can get a simple face done in about half an hour. Maybe forty-five minutes.”

“So factoring five hours for five models…what do you think, Joce? No later than nine?” Marinette asked. She winced again at the pinched look on Jocelyn’s face, as if her spine was trying to escape her body.

“Hardly,” Jocelyn said tersely. She shot Juleka a look. “No offense, Mme. Couffaine, but I don’t trust him to be that fast until I see it. Seven AM sharp, please. Earlier if he can make it – some of her looks are a bit… _complex_.”

Juleka’s smirk turned a bit more sinister as she tapped away on her phone. It shouldn’t have surprised her, Marinette supposed. They’d asked the models to be there by five, and she was planning on getting there even earlier.

“Considering traffic, earlier will definitely be preferable,” Jocelyn continued. Her eyes narrowed at Juleka. “Who exactly is this, Mme. Couffaine?”

“Same entrance you told us to be at? The one by Clarke’s?” Juleka asked, ignoring her. Her eyes were still on her phone. Marinette nodded when her eyes flicked back to her. Juleka nodded one more time before putting her phone away. “He’ll be there. You’re good.”

“And he’s good for the entire week? Not just tomorrow?” Marinette pressed, wringing her hands a little anxiously. Juleka pulled her phone back out, fired off another text, and nodded.

“You’ve got him for the week, Marinette,” she said, and Marinette let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Thank God.

“ _Who_ will be there, Juleka?” Jocelyn asked again, but Marinette cut her off with a squeal as she launched herself from her chair, throwing herself at Juleka in an exuberant hug.

“Oh, you’re the _best_ , Juleka!” she cried. She stuck her tongue out at Jocelyn when she tried to protest. “Don’t worry about it, Joce – I trust Juleka! If she says this guy is good, then he has to be good. Juleka would never let me down like that, right?”

Juleka just smiled, though there was still something… _cloudy_ about the look in her eyes. She squeezed Marinette’s hands and nodded, smiling despite the _Look_. Marinette was honestly too relieved to care. If anything, she just figured the look was a bit of leftover guilt from the stupid Lila drama in collège. (Which Marinette had never held against her friends, but…well, she knew Alya still felt awful about how bad things had gotten back then. Lila was an unwanted ghost when things like _friends_ and _trust_ came up, especially in their group, which was miraculously still close despite the time and distance that had separated most of them.)

“Yeah,” she said. “Never.”

Marinette beamed at her, pulling her in for another fierce hug. She was laughing when she pulled back.

“Ok!” she said, squeezing Juleka’s shoulders before she spun her towards the rack Jocelyn had mentioned earlier. There were still some minor adjustments she had to make to Juleka’s outfit, and they didn’t have any time to spare. “Now, let’s get you changed! Tomorrow’s a big day, guys!”

– V –

Marinette had been working in the fashion world since she was thirteen. She had attended her first Fashion Week at sixteen, and while back then she had only been shadowing Audrey Bourgeois she had still had more than enough opportunity to see how hectic the time could be – and that hadn’t even been one of the big _Fashion Weeks_. (Her first Fashion Week in New York, she maybe slept four hours the entire week. She had run on coffee and determination, and she had slept the entire week after – or at least the two days Audrey had let her off the hook.)

It was always the same, though: PAs running around, dodging cast and crew and press alike; designers with too many pins sticking out, desperately trying to fix last-minute problems that always showed up; models standing around on their phones as they were pulled and posed and dressed _just so_ ; the cloud of hairspray from the hair tent and hot lights from the makeup stations; stylists going even crazier because they were the go-betweens for all of them; press clamoring around their assigned locations and trying to sneak into anywhere off-limits; techs running up with last-minute little problems they were trying to solve before they became last-minute Big Problems. Marinette loved it. She thrived on the chaos, jumping right into the fray with the rest of them. It was exhausting and exhilarating and everything she had always dreamed it would be. And this time, it was all on her.

She patted Brigette’s back after doing up the zipper, checking her watch quickly before nodding at the model.

“Ok,” she said, waving her off. “Makeup’s not here yet, so take a breather. I’ll find you when we’re ready, ok?”

Brigette nodded, pulled out her phone, and walked over to where the other models were gathering. Juleka gave her an amused look from where she was leaning against a support beam, nursing a coffee, and Marinette rolled her eyes fondly. Juleka had been in the business almost as long as Marinette had been: she’d started taking modeling gigs while they were still in lycée, and between her natural beauty and grace and her very famous father (who, much like with Luka, had tried to make up for sixteen years of absence by opening every door available to him for his kids) her career had taken off almost overnight. She had started to step away from modelling lately, though, finding she preferred to be more on the other side of the camera (and she tended to prefer nature shots to people), but she still did the occasional show and shoot for Marinette.

They’d been friends a long time by now, and Juleka had once told her she wouldn’t do it for anyone else. But she liked Marinette, and she still liked stepping into the spotlight occasionally. Marinette had found herself utilizing Juleka’s talents behind the camera more and more often lately, though, and both seemed happier that way. Still, Juleka had promised to model for her this week, and Marinette had held her to it.

Juleka’s eyes slipped past her, narrowing at something over her shoulder, and Marinette frowned and turned. She jumped when she found a tall, dark-haired, bearded man standing behind her. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, even in the tent, but the general slouch of his posture spoke of someone who wasn’t used to being up at the crack of dawn. She laid her hand over her heart, laughing slightly as she shook her head.

“Sorry,” she said, tapping the spot on her chest. She missed the way the man’s eyebrows lifted at the gesture. “Can I help you?”

“I think I’m here to help you,” he said, inclining his head towards her. She blinked, her smile slipping. There was something familiar – almost painfully so – about his voice, but she couldn’t place it. Her head tilted to the side as she considered him, but…she didn’t know him, she didn’t think. She was pretty sure she didn’t, at least? There were a lot of people rushing around, and it was possible she had bumped into him at some point, but…he propped his sunglasses up on his head, revealing tired, bloodshot blue eyes. “Makeup?”

“Oh!” Marinette cried, clapping her hands together. She shook her head, laughing again. “Right! Juleka’s guy! Sorry, it’s just been…and you don’t look…”

An eyebrow lifted in amusement, disappearing beneath black bangs that flopped over one side of his forehead. She would say his lips had twitched with a smile, but the beard covering the lower half of his face was just thick enough that she couldn’t be sure. Between the scruffy hair and the…laid-back style he was sporting (ripped jeans, heavy boots, some old band shirt, and a hoodie that looked like it had seen better days), he certainly didn’t look like he belonged backstage at Fashion Week. Or anywhere near a makeup chair, really.

…she wasn’t going to panic. Juleka had recommended him, so he _had_ to be good. She trusted Juleka. Juleka wouldn’t screw her over.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head again. She grabbed his elbow and turned back to her models. “Ok, guys, we’re a go! Five minutes, and then I want Anette in the chair!”

She was walking even as she shouted out her orders, dragging the makeup guy behind her as she went. By the time she heard the consenting grumbles from her group, she’d reached the station they’d been assigned. She quickly checked her watch. 7:06, so he wasn’t _too_ late. She snatched up a stack of papers from the table and began flipping through them.

“Ok, so everyone’s dressed, and I think Logan is finishing up with Kris’s hair now, so then they’ll all be ready for you. Juleka said you know your stuff, and I trust her, so I’m trusting you. Here’s the concept sketches, and…oh, you know what you’re doing, right?” she laughed, finally looking up at him. There was a look on his face she couldn’t quite place, uncertain if he was amused by her or overwhelmed. Probably a fair mix of both – she’d learned long ago she had that effect on people. He took the sketches from her and began flipping through them, nodding.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” he said. He looked up at her, and he was definitely smiling beneath the beard that time. There was a crinkling around his eyes that gave the gesture away, one that set off another little niggling in the back of her mind. She would swear she knew him from _somewhere_ … “I’ve got you, Marinette.”

…a shiver raced up her spine at that, but she told herself it was just nerves. Had she told him her name? She was pretty sure she hadn’t, but she was also pretty sure that Juleka probably had. It was nothing. She was just nervous about the show.

“Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes and taking a breath. She grinned at him when she opened her eyes again, and then she was throwing herself at him with a squeal. He stumbled back half a step, his arms automatically coming up to hold her – but she was already pulling away. That overwhelmed look was on his face again. “Sorry! Just…you’re really saving my ass here! Thank you again. You –”

“Marinette!”

She turned, her hands still on the makeup guy’s shoulders. Jocelyn was running towards her, a tech waving a clipboard behind her. She groaned and looked back at the makeup guy.

“Sorry – never ends around here!” she laughed. She squeezed his shoulders before stepping back. “We go on at two – I’m trusting you to have them ready! Thanks again!”

He stood there, watching as she met Jocelyn and the tech, the dazed expression still on his face. After a moment of heated discussion, Marinette threw her head back with a groan and ran off with the tech, shouting something about _orange_ and _sunset_ and _you’re going to make her look like an over-ripe kumquat!_ His fist tightened over the strap of the bag on his shoulder, the weight of the makeup bag against his side somehow feeling worlds heavier than his guitar ever had. A gentle touch on his shoulder made him jump, setting his heart racing all over again. Juleka was frowning at his side.

“This isn’t going to be a problem, is it?” she asked, squeezing his shoulder. He looked back to where Marinette had disappeared, frowning.

“Is _what_ going to be a problem?” he asked, sounding a bit gruffer than he’d intended. His voice sounded like _shit_ , between the lack of sleep and abundance of energy drinks he’d been running on lately. Juleka stepped around him, reaching up to hold his face and turn his gaze back to her. She frowned as she felt the beard under her fingers. God, the least he could have done was shave before he showed up…she _hated_ the beard. It made him look too much like their dad.

“You’re not gonna get _Stupid_ on me again, are you, Lu?” she asked. Blue eyes narrowed in a glare, briefly, before they softened and looked back over her shoulder. Towards where he could still see Marinette on the other side of the tent, as beautiful and passionate as she had ever been, and his heart lurched a little in his chest. He sighed and closed his eyes, forcing himself to look away. He had a job to do. Marinette was counting on him. He couldn’t let her down.

Not again.

Luka Couffaine shook his head and pulled away from his sister, setting his makeup bag on the table so he could set up. She was still watching him uncertainly when he finally answered, “…no. I’m not gonna get _Stupid_ on you, Jules.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kinda worried about the whole “Marinette doesn’t recognize Luka” thing, and then I realized he basically rolls up to Fashion Week like


	3. Ten Minutes in Twenty-Eight Hours (Maybe Twenty-Five)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When she didn't recognize him, Luka decided he was _not_ going to tell Marinette who he actually was. It's a good thing he's working more with the models and not her, then. If he plays his cards right, he won't have to see her at all. Ten minutes, tops.
> 
> ...maybe twenty-five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all I’mma be upfront with you right now…I did some research on Fashion Week, but beyond what I learned from Ugly Betty I’m completely flying by the seat of my pants. We’re going for DRAMA here, not industry accuracy. xD
> 
> (...that being said I couldn't resist the cameo. I just couldn't. 😂)

Marinette was _flying_.

She could hardly believe how well everything had gone that first day. Her first solo show had gone off without a single hitch, which…was a small miracle in and of itself. No one ever got that lucky, not even Lady Luck herself. She had, admittedly, expected things to go wrong – especially when her makeup guy had put himself out of commission the night before, and then when a tech had informed her the light design she had sent over had been partially lost and partially misinterpreted maybe an hour before the show. She had been nervous when Juleka’s makeup guy had arrived (only five minutes late, though it had felt like five hours to her frazzled mind), despite her faith in Juleka’s judgment. He just…had _not_ looked the part, but she should know by now that appearances are always deceiving. She had been nervous leaving him alone, and the nerves had only gotten worse when she hadn’t been able to check on him throughout the day, but she had worried for nothing. Every time she passed one of the finished models, they had looked _amazing_. The one time she did get to check up on him, Juleka had been half-done in his chair and he had been nowhere to be found.

“He had to pee,” Juleka had said, smirking up at her from her phone. She had gestured to the little trash can under the vanity, which was overflowing with disposable coffee cups. “Five cups before noon will do that to you.”

“ _Five?_ ” Marinette had squawked, and Juleka had just snickered.

“He’s not exactly what you’d call an _early riser_ , Marinette,” she said. “I don’t think he slept last night, actually, once he found out how early he had to be here. Dumbass.”

Which, if anything, had only impressed her _more_. She was used to working on minimal sleep and long hours, but she knew not everyone could function that way. What he had done on zero sleep was nothing short of magic, and Marinette was more than a little excited to see what he could do once he was properly rested. He had taken her notes and added his own flair, realizing her vision better than she ever could have hoped. He just… _got her_. Better than even Antoine ever had, and they’d been working together for _years_.

It had been a _really_ good show.

Her designs were on point, and with the help of his makeup her models had looked _amazing_. Nino had mixed a killer arrangement for the show, the lighting was perfect, and the potential buyers and critics had loved her work. Audrey, who had been front and center for her protégé’s first solo show, had caught her eye over the crowd of photographers as the last model walked, actually _smiling_ and nodding in approval. When the emcee made his final announcements and closed the show, Marinette let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and let herself smile. She had done it.

It had been the longest eight minutes of her life, but she had done it.

_MDC Designs_ was officially on its way.

“Great job, everybody!” she called as her models rushed around her. She knew most of them (ok, all but Juleka) only had a handful of minutes to change and clean up before they’d be rushing off to their next show, and none of them seemed to be paying her any mind. She clapped her hands together and looked around, beaming as they changed and fussed and rushed, grumbling all the while. God, she loved this energy. “You all did great! I’ll see most of you back tomorrow – Jocelyn will e-mail you a final itinerary tonight! Get some rest!”

A few of them – ones she had been working with for years by this point – actually smiled and wished her a good night before leaving, but most of them just rushed off. She shook her head, still smiling as she took another deep breath. _Models_. She remembered when she used to be so star-struck by them – or at least by one in particular. Now she just wished most of them would eat more than a baby carrot for lunch and _smile_.

They weren’t all bad, though, she thought as she spotted Juleka talking with someone by the makeup chair. Marinette paused as she studied the man Juleka was talking to. It took her a moment, but then she spotted the ratty hoodie hanging off the mirror and realized it was the makeup guy she had recommended. She hadn’t actually gotten that good a look at him earlier, and it had taken her a moment to recognize him without the hoodie or the shades. Or…actually standing somewhat straight. He still had a natural little slouch about him, but he didn’t look like he was about to pass out anymore. She guessed those five cups of coffee had helped. He was packing up his makeup bag, though, so he definitely had to be the makeup guy, right? The…

…she realized, belatedly, that she had never actually gotten his name earlier. She would have to remedy that. She certainly couldn’t call him _Makeup Guy_ all week, right? He deserved better than that, especially after he had done so much to help her – and had done such an amazing job at it, too!

Juleka said something that made him roll his eyes, and Marinette smiled at the gesture. Now that she was getting a good look at him, he was actually kind of cute? Ok. She wasn’t crazy about the beard, but she could see good bone structure underneath, and his eyes were a lovely shade of blue. She liked the undercut he was sporting, though, and the way his bangs flopped down over his left eye. It didn’t look like he was using any product, either, and the top of his hair – which was on the longish side – curled up in little cowlicks that made her want to run her hands through them to smooth it out. His hair was a lovely shade of black, too – darker than her own. Closer to Juleka’s.

Her eyes continued to sweep over him somewhat critically, her Designer Brain kicking in. His ears were pierced, with a few hoops and studs dotting the cartilage, but she was surprised to note there were no other piercings. What she had taken for a band shirt earlier was actually a tank, displaying well-toned arms. His right arm was decorated with an intricate tattoo sleeve composed of waves and flowers (cherry blossoms, even – she’d recognize that design anywhere), and when he turned she could see the hint of another tattoo peeking out by his left shoulder (and she was _definitely_ keeping her eyes on his shoulder and not on the way his tight jeans hugged a _very_ nice ass). From his general aesthetic, she would have assumed he’d at least have an eyebrow piercing or a nose ring or _something_.

She still didn’t think he looked like he belonged anywhere near a makeup chair (at least not unless he was the one sitting in it getting made up). A rock concert, maybe, but definitely not backstage at Fashion Week wielding a blusher. Still, she couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Very attractive.

And talented. She definitely had to give him that. She supposed he did have that familiar _artist_ vibe about him, at least, even if he didn’t make her think _makeup_.

Juleka caught her eye over the guy’s shoulder and smirked. She raised a hand, wiggling her fingers in a wave, and Marinette felt her face burn. Juleka had definitely caught her checking the Makeup Guy out. Crap. Juleka waved her over, and he looked up. He smiled when he saw her standing there, and she realized that – even with the beard – he had a nice smile that made her stomach flip pleasantly. Double crap.

“Hey, guys!” she said, slapping on her brightest smile and rushing over. She gripped the back of the makeup chair, bouncing a little as she grinned at them. “Great job out there, Jules!”

“Please,” Juleka scoffed. “All I did was walk and smile.”

“So modest,” the makeup guy chuckled. Juleka grinned and punched his arm, making him roll his eyes again. Marinette smiled at the familiar ease between them. Juleka didn’t always have the easiest time making friends, so it was nice to see her so relaxed around someone. She looked at him, her smile softening.

“Thanks again for stepping up today,” she said. He turned to look at her, his eyebrows raised, and she gripped the back of the chair a little anxiously. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. Your work was _amazing_ – you really saved my ass today.”

His eyes crinkled with a smile that…her head tilted to the side as she studied him again. There was just… _something_ about him. He was almost painfully familiar, but Marinette was fairly certain she’d never met him before. She would remember someone that attractive, right? She certainly didn’t think she’d forget a beard like that, at least. But there was something about his eyes…he looked away, breaking her gaze, and shrugged a little. He was still smiling, though, as he fidgeted with his bag. She noted his nails were painted black, though the polish was in desperate need of a touch-up. His fingers even glinted with a few silver and black rings.

“It was nothing,” he said, putting a compact back in the bag. He ran a finger along a brush tip, the gesture speaking more of needing something to do with his hands than actually checking the brush for anything. “Juleka asked, and I usually can’t say no to Jules.”

“Please,” Juleka snorted, glancing up from her phone. “You say no to me all the time. You just can’t so no to –”

“I was free and you asked,” he said sharply, glaring at her. Marinette’s eyebrows lifted in amusement.

“You two must go way back,” Marinette said, laughing. Juleka’s eyebrows soared, her mouth dropping in a surprised little _oh_.

“You…could say that,” he said, nodding. Juleka’s lips pressed together, her eyes shooting him a dark look that Marinette missed because she was too busy looking at him. He zipped his bag up and slung it over his shoulder. “Anyway. It really was no problem.”

“You will be back tomorrow, right? And the rest of the week? Juleka or Jocelyn or _someone_ explained what happened, I hope?” she asked, and he chuckled as he nodded.

“Yeah, Juleka said you needed me for the entire week,” he said. His fingers twitched on the zip of his bag before his hand tightened in a fist against the fabric. “I’ll be here. Same time, right?”

“Yeah,” she said with a nod. She winced a little, smiling apologetically at him. “Tomorrow, at least. Wednesday and Friday are a little different, and I shouldn’t need you Thursday. Thursday’s just panels and going to other people’s shows, and I can do my own makeup for that.”

She gave him a little wink – one that made his eyes widen and…were his cheeks turning pink? Was he…was he _blushing?_ She mentally shook her head, dismissing the thought as soon as it came. Because it was _ridiculous_. (“Utterly ridiculous,” Audrey’s voice tutted in the back of her mind.) She cleared her throat and shifted on her feet, looking back down to her hands as her own face warmed a little.

“A-anyway. Yeah, same time tomorrow. It’s basically going to be the same show, just different vendors showing up for it,” she explained with a small roll of her eyes. She paused and looked back up at him, biting her lip a little nervously as a thought struck her. “I…I hope you get some sleep tonight, though. I know it’s early, and I really appreciate you doing this, but I’d hate to think you’re not resting properly because of me.”

Juleka made a little noise that sounded suspiciously close to a snort, but he either didn’t hear it or was ignoring her. He shook his head again.

“It’s earlier than my normal hours, but I’ll make it work. Anything for…a friend of Juleka’s,” he said, coughing a little as he glanced away. Marinette frowned, her head tilting to the side at that. It was such a _weird_ way to word things, and the way he wouldn’t look at her…and there it was again, that sense of familiarity that almost hurt. Something that felt like it should be obvious, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it…

“Have we…we haven’t met before, have we?” she asked. His eyes snapped back to her, and she smiled ruefully. “Sorry, it’s just…you seem…I feel like I know you from somewhere. You haven’t worked for Audrey or Gabriel Agreste before, have you?”

“…no,” he said after a long moment. He looked back down to his makeup bag, drumming his fingers against the top of the case anxiously. “The makeup thing is more of a side gig.”

Marinette laughed a little, shaking her head in wonder.

“I never would have been able to tell,” she said, still laughing. “You’re a natural…”

She hesitated, and he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. She blinked a little stupidly at him.

“Er…you know…it just hit me that I never actually got your name?” she said, still laughing. She missed the noise Juleka made. “Which doesn’t really seem fair, because you know mine’s Marinette, but I don’t know what to call you? I certainly can’t call you _Makeup Guy_ all week.”

“No, you certainly could,” Juleka snickered, but he shot her a look that only made her smirk. When he looked back at Marinette, the annoyance slipped off his face. He seemed to hesitate, his fist tightening against his bag. Juleka’s eyes darted between them, an incredulous look on her face. Marinette dipped her head towards him, smiling kindly as he seemed to struggle with what should have been a fairly simple question.

“Yeah. Right,” he finally sighed, letting go of his bag to shove a hand through his hair. His bangs flopped back into his eye, and he sighed. “It’s –”

Before he could answer, there was a frantic call from across the tent: “Marinette!”

They all looked up to see Jocelyn waving her over, her tablet raised high above her head and one manicured finger pointing desperately at it. Marinette groaned, her head falling back as her fists tightened on the back of his chair.

“Sorry,” she said, sighing. “Duty calls – it never ends around here. Thanks again. Joce will e-mail you our itinerary tonight, but like I said: tomorrow is basically the same as today. We’ve got a few more shows later in the week, but they’ll catch you up to speed.”

“MARINETTE!”

“I’m coming!” Marinette called, shooting them a final smile and waving before she ran off to find out what was so urgent. Once she reached her, Jocelyn grabbed her arm and drug her towards the tent’s exit, still agitatedly gesturing at her tablet. When they were gone, Juleka turned to her brother with disbelieving eyes.

“…she…has no idea who you are,” Juleka gaped, shaking her head. “Like…at all. She didn’t even recognize you. She…”

“Drop it, Jules,” Luka said, narrowing his eyes at her. He turned back to his bag, double-checking that everything was there and rearranging the things he had hastily stashed while Marinette had been there to distract him. “It’s been eight years. I don’t exactly look the same.”

She snorted and reached up, tugging on his undyed hair.

“Yeah,” she said. “I get you haven’t had time to put the blue back in, but what the hell is up with the beard? I know you hate it as much as I do.”

“Lay off,” he sighed, reaching up to scrub at his eyes. “I’ve been making great progress on the next album. You know I can’t shave until it’s done.”

Juleka rolled her eyes at that, but she couldn’t really argue against him. They all had their silly little superstitions. Their mother always had to wear red glasses. Juleka refused to travel without a little stuffed bat Rose had given her back in lycée. Luka refused to shave during his writing process. It was stupid, but she understood. He honestly believed shaving would jinx the entire project, though she had no idea what had put that ridiculous notion in his head. But after the dry spell he’d been suffering lately…still, if he showed up to Fashion Week without the beard and Marinette got a good look at his clean face…

“Oh my God,” she cackled, slapping a hand over her mouth as she imagined the look on Marinette’s face when she realized her makeup artist was none other than _Luka Couffaine_. “She is going to _freak_ when she finds out. I cannot fucking wait. Oh my _God_ , Lu.”

“No, she won’t,” he said harshly, his eyes narrowing at her, “because I’m not going to tell her, and neither are you.”

That seemed to deflate her excitement. He sighed and looked back at his bag, his fingers worrying the zipper. He should just close it and go.

“Wait…what?” she asked, frowning. “Lu, you can’t be serious. She’s _going_ to find out. You’re going to be working with her all week.”

“No, I’m going to be working with _you_ all week,” he corrected. “She’s already told me what she expects. I can keep any conversation between us vague and short enough. She doesn’t have to know it’s me.”

“Why the hell not?!” Juleka snapped, stomping her foot. Luka’s eyebrows rose, his eyes widening at the uncharacteristic display – the almost Rose-like pout she was now sporting. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her manicured nails were drumming against the crook of her arm in agitation. “You have been in love with this girl since you were _seventeen_ , and now this great opportunity has been dropped in your lap and you’re just gonna…waste it? Come _on_ , Luka. She’s single. You’re single. You –”

“Drop it, Juleka!” he snapped, zipping up his case a little more forcefully than he’d intended. He grit his teeth, clenching shaking fists on the strap of the bag. Her eyes widened at that, and he took a few deep breaths to steady himself. He’d closed his eyes, but when they opened again they were still stormy. “Just…drop it. It’s…” He paused, taking another deep breath. He tipped his head back and glared at the roof of the tent. “It’s better this way. She’s _happy_ , Jules. Did you see the way she was smiling all day? I can’t…I can’t mess that up for her.”

“Who says you’ll be _messing it up_ , Lu?” Juleka sighed, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. His expression twisted at that, and she sighed again. Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she pursed her lips in a frown. Rose was texting her, asking if she was done yet and what she wanted for dinner. “Whatever. Just…I hope this doesn’t blow up in your face. Maybe it is for the best, anyway. Marinette’s still a good friend, and she’s still kickass. The last thing I need is you breaking her heart because you’re a dumbass, dumbass.”

“Love you, too, sis,” he said dryly. She rolled her eyes and chucked his shoulder.

“Get some sleep,” she said. She glanced at the beard, pursing her lips. “And shave that stupid thing off already. You look like Dad.”

Luka rolled his eyes as he watched her go. He looked back down at his makeup bag, his eyes closing as he took a final breath.

He had a feeling this was going to be the longest week of his life. He just hoped he could survive it.

– V –

Except, as it turned out, avoiding Marinette – or at least keeping his identity a secret from her – was a lot easier than Luka had expected. Mostly. By the end of the week, Luka was pretty sure they’d spent maybe ten…maybe twenty-five minutes together tops. It wasn’t very long at all – barely half an hour – but those twenty-five minutes were the best part of his entire week.

They went a little something like this…

Tuesday morning dawned bright and early, and Luka arrived at the tent maybe ten minutes before he had to be there (to make up for the few minutes he was late the day before, when he would have been on time if not for parking and the general madness surrounding the tent). Jocelyn had e-mailed him the itinerary the night before, and Tuesday would operate much as Monday had (much as Marinette had said it would). One of the models was already waiting for him in his chair, and after he’d unpacked his bag and downed half his coffee he got straight to work. He hadn’t seen Marinette since arriving, but that didn’t really surprise him: there were a million people bustling about, and he was focusing on the face he was working on. It was only natural he wouldn’t see her.

…except she’d apparently been running late that morning, as half an hour after he’d gotten there she burst through the entrance with a cry of, “I’M HERE! I’M HERE! JOCELYN, YOU CAN STOP CALLING ME NOW!”

He looked up over the model’s head to see her snap at a security guard that was trying to stop her, demanding to see the badge she couldn’t show him because her arms were full of…bakery boxes? Pale yellow bakery boxes he hadn’t seen in a long while, emblazoned with the familiar _T &S_ logo on the side. Once the guard moved away from her, she was moving towards him – or at least his general direction – again. Jocelyn was already yelling something at her, but before Marinette could move past his vanity she paused.

“Hey!” she cried, grinning at him. He almost swallowed his tongue at that smile. She glanced at the model he was working on, her smile growing brighter. “Damn, you’re good. Right, here – I’m _coming_ , Joce! – this is for you!”

She took the top box off her stack and placed it on the corner of the vanity, by his coffee (mostly gone but still his first of the day, he was proud to note). He raised an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged.

“My parents own a bakery. I bake when I’m stressed,” she said. He smiled and nodded, his heart fluttering a little as he glanced at the box. It had been a while since he’d stopped by the T&S Boulangerie. Even longer since he’d had something Marinette herself had made. “And it’s Valentine’s Day, and everyone deserves a treat on Valentine’s Day, and you’re doing me a huge favor this week, and –”

“ _Marinette_ ,” Jocelyn hissed at her side, and she winced. He looked down, hiding his smile as he tried not to laugh. God, she was still absolutely adorable…

“Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you,” she continued, “and Dupain-Chengs say _thank you_ with baked goods. So…thank you.”

Before he could say anything, Jocelyn was dragging her away. The model glared at him as he opened the box and pulled a macaron out. It was pink and smelled faintly of chocolate and cherries.

“Eat that in front of me and I’ll stab you with your eyebrow pencil,” she said in a monotonous voice. He cocked a brow at her, but she had already turned her attention back to the mirror. He put the macaron back in the box, rolling his eyes as he went back to painting the deep purple shadow around her eyes.

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur. He’d been right when he’d told Juleka he’d be working more with the models than Marinette. He only saw Marinette in passing, and he found out from Juleka that she had overslept because she’d made the macarons the night before. She told him this after she stole two from his box (which shouldn’t have been a big deal, but they were _his_ macarons that _Marinette_ had made, and Juleka had dropped into his chair eating one from the box Marinette had brought for the rest of her staff, so why did she need to take _his?_ ). So Marinette was behind, so of course he hadn’t seen much of her. It made sense. He was supposed to be avoiding her anyway, right?

He made sure he packed up during the show, though, and by the time it was over he was gone. He got another e-mail from Jocelyn that night reminding him to be at a tent maybe a block away from the one they’d used the past two days at noon the next day. They were part of a compilation show – a _Top Ten New Designers To Watch_ presentation put on by some big fashion magazine. Marinette only had two designs in the show, which meant he only had two models to prepare. She had attached some notes from Marinette for him to review, and he was in the middle of reading them when his phone buzzed with a message from his sister.

_JC: Mari was looking for you after the show._

_JC: Wanted to thank you. See if you liked the macarons._

_JC: She’s really impressed with your work, Lu._

_JC: …you have to tell her._

_JC: (I didn’t. I won’t. But you should.)_

He glared at his phone, or at least tried to. In the end he just chucked it at the coffee table and rolled onto his side. It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ want to tell Marinette who he was. He hadn’t really thought that part through, if he was being honest. Juleka had just said that Marinette needed him, and he’d agreed without a second thought. Because it was Marinette, and he would always drop everything to help her. Because Juleka was right, he was _Stupid_ , and she was… _Marinette_. But when she hadn’t actually recognized him…he just went with it.

It would be easier to slip back out of her life in the end that way, and after everything he had done…after everything he _hadn’t_ done…it just seemed better that way.

And then it was Wednesday, and the tent he showed up at was even crazier than the one they’d been using the past two days, and when the tech escorted him to the vanity he’d be using he was surprised to find Marinette sitting in his chair, her head tipped back and mouth open as a half-eaten granola bar dangled precariously from her hand. She was dead asleep.

Seeing her there like that…he paused as the tech prattled on about times and models and where to send them, barely hearing any of it before the tech dashed off. Something in him twisted as he took her in, sitting in his chair like she belonged there. Like she always would. In that moment, it was easy enough to imagine a life where he would come home from a gig to find her passed out amidst sketches and fabric scraps. Where he would wake her with a gentle shake and a kiss, where he would make her dinner (or breakfast, given his usual schedule) and make sure she was taking care of herself. Where he could take care of her for her. Where…but no. Because that wasn’t the life meant for him. He’d made sure of that, and after this week he’d be gone again. Like he was supposed to be. He had to remind himself of that: that this was all just an accident. He was only there because of an accident. This entire week (and, he was sure, the weeks and months leading up to it) had been crazy for her, so she was just exhausted. She probably hadn’t even realized it was ‘his’ chair – had probably just seen an empty spot and collapsed. There was no ulterior motive here. She wasn’t seeking him out, because she didn’t know who he was. Because if she did, she’d toss him out of here sooner than he could say _I’m sorry_. And it would be over all over again.

Except Juleka’s text from the night before kept flashing before his eyes, taunting the thing twisting in him that he was steadfastly trying to ignore: _Mari was looking for you after the show_.

To thank the _Makeup Guy_ , though. Not because she wanted _Luka Couffaine._ She’d never want…

With a heavy sigh, he put his bag down on the vanity and turned towards her, crouching before the chair and taking her granola bar before she dropped it. He wondered if it was just a pick-me-up or the only thing she’d eaten recently. He laid a hand on her knee and gently shook.

“Marinette,” he called softly, smiling as she grumbled and stirred. He shook her again.

“Mmm…Luka…” she murmured, and he froze, his grip tightening on her knee. His heart stopped in his chest. Had she just…did she…her brow furrowed, and she shifted again. Sleepy eyes blinked open at him. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly too dry.

“H-hey,” he choked out, coughing a little to clear his throat. He forced a smile (well, not exactly _forced_ , though in his frazzled state it did take a bit more effort than it otherwise would) and tried again. “Good nap?”

Her face scrunched adorably, her eyes scanning his face for a moment like she was…reorienting. Waking up. Definitely _not_ like she actually recognized him. Her eyes shot open a moment later and she jerked up, flailing a little as she came to. He jumped back, holding his hands up, to avoid being accidentally kicked.

“Oh my God, I fell asleep!” she yelped, her head swiveling as she looked around the bustling tent. Her eyes landed back on him, her expression a mix of nerves and terror. “What time is it? How long until the show? Oh my God, how long did they let me sleep? How –?”

“Whoa, whoa – easy!” he said, crouching down again and reaching for her knees. He squeezed, hoping to steady her, and she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. “You’re good. I just got here – you still have a few hours before the show. You’re good.”

“…I’m so sorry,” she sighed, reaching up to rest a hand on her heart. She took a few more focused breaths, and when she opened her eyes again she looked much calmer. He tried to ignore the way that _thing_ inside him (his heart, he was pretty sure it was his heart) twisted again as he remembered the summer before she started lycée, when they’d started meditating together and he’d taught her some of his breathing techniques. Techniques she was still using, it seemed. “It’s…been a long week. I haven’t been sleeping as much as I could be, and every time I do…”

She trailed off, and he swallowed at the almost haunted look in her eyes.

_…she had said his name._

Did that mean…had she…had she been dreaming about him often?

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” he said, squeezing her knee. He hoped he didn’t sound as abrupt as that had felt. “I’m just here to do your makeup, remember?”

She groaned, leaning forward to press her face into her palms. His breath caught at how close the motion brought her.

“Right. Right. Makeup. Ok. Wednesday, right? It’s Wednesday,” she breathed. Her fingers – tipped with pink nails so much more immaculate than his chipping black – rubbed little circles into her skin. She took another breath, pushing it out slowly. “The _Bourgeois_ show. Two looks. I’ve got this.”

“You’ve got this,” he echoed. When she looked up at him, he smiled, and she finally smiled back.

“I should get back to work,” she said, peeking out at him from under her hands. He nodded. “I should move so _you_ can get to work.”

“Probably a good idea,” he said, squeezing her knee again. He should move his hand. “Schedules and deadlines and all that.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she said, finally lowering her hands to her lap. “I was just hoping to catch you before you got started.”

“…oh?” he asked, an eyebrow lifting. She nodded.

“To thank you again,” she said. “See how you liked the macarons. You disappeared before I could find you yesterday.”

“They were delicious,” he said, smiling softly at her. Her eyes glanced at her knee, and he followed her gaze to see his hand was still resting there. His thumb was absently brushing against her skin, touching her like…he quickly pulled his hand away, propping his elbows on his knees and clenching his hands into fists. He had to remind himself that they weren’t _familiar_. Not like that. Not that she knew. Not that they ever were. “Best macarons I’ve had in years. Thank you.”

She straightened a little at his praise, her hands bunching her skirt a little when her eyes dropped to her lap. In the bright lights of the vanity mirror, it was too easy to see the way her cheeks pinked.

“I-it was nothing, really,” she said, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t looking at him, instead keeping her eyes on the people rushing about around them. “My parents run a bakery, and –”

“Dupain-Chengs say thanks with baked goods,” he said, chuckling. Her eyes snapped back to him, a look he refused to acknowledge sparking in them. He dipped his head towards her. “You said yesterday.”

Her face burned hotter.

“R-right, of course I did,” she sighed, bopping the heel of her palm against her forehead. “Sorry. It’s been a _week_.”

“At least you don’t have any shows tomorrow,” he said. His hand was on her knee again, but he didn’t remember putting it there. He pulled it back as soon as she smiled at him. “Unless Jocelyn forgot something in that e-mail. Hopefully you can rest tonight. Recharge for your big night Friday.”

“I wish,” she said with a sigh. She rubbed at her face again, pinching her temples as she tipped her head back. “I might not be putting on a show, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t at least eight I have to attend. _Bourgeois_ is also putting on a panel with Biotherm tomorrow promoting the designers in today’s show, and I’m one of the speakers. Not that I’m really qualified to _lecture_ on fashion, but it’s part of the job.”

She took a deep breath, pressed her face into her hands, and quietly screamed. When she looked back at him, her smile was only a _little_ crazed. He chuckled, patting her knee.

“Feel better?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Much,” she said. She sighed and dropped her hands, and he tensed when they landed on his own. “Sorry. I don’t know why I just dropped all of that on you. I don’t even know you. I just…there’s…” She paused, catching her lower lip between her teeth. He couldn’t look away from her mouth until she released it. “You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone…someone I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. You’re very easy to talk to…”

She trailed off again, but this time she seemed more embarrassed about it. The red on her cheeks darkened, and she was biting her lip again as she looked at him. Her hand wrapped around his own and squeezed.

“…sorry. I just…do you know I still don’t know your name?” she asked with a little laugh. “I tried asking Juleka yesterday – she recommended you, so of course she’d know, right? But she told me she just calls you _Stupid_.” He choked a little, and she laughed. “Which just seems _mean_. I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you’re kind of a genius. You’ve been doing such a great job this week. Anyway, please tell me I can call you something other than _Stupid?_ ”

“It’s usually the most appropriate,” he said, chuckling. He looked at their joined hands, flipping them so he could squeeze hers before he let go. She tilted her head at him, and he swallowed.

The jig was up.

“I’m going to have to know who to write the check out to, you know,” she whispered, leaning closer to him. Her eyes were dancing with a mischievous light, one that made him want to do something _really_ stupid like kiss her. Did she have any idea how attractive she still was? The sway she still held over him? “I don’t think the bank will accept a check made out to _Stupid_ , Stupid.”

He choked on a laugh, and the grin she gave him made his heart twist almost painfully. God, he still loved…

… _shit_.

“N-no,” he coughed, clapping a hand against his chest. He couldn’t think like that. Those were Dangerous Thoughts. “I don’t suppose they would.”

He sighed, keeping his head down. His hands were clasped between his knees, holding tight enough that they hurt. He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Right,” he said, tapping his thumb against the back of his hand. “My name’s not ‘Stupid’. It’s –”

“ _Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, get your adorable little ass over here!”_

They both jumped at the shout, looking up to see a short man in a flashy suit and glasses waving her over. His black hair was cut short and flipped up in the front like a duck tail, with a coif of it dyed white. He held a microphone in his hand, and another man with a camera stood behind him. Marinette groaned, slapping her most professional smile on her face when she noticed him.

“ _Great_ ,” she said through clenched teeth, waving back and holding up a finger to tell him _one moment_. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t see him until October.”

“Friend of yours?” Luka asked, and Marinette’s eyebrows rose at him. She laughed a little.

“You really don’t usually work in fashion, do you?” she quipped. He winced, but her smile was kind. “Suzuki St. Pierre. He’s a fashion journalist from New York. It’s weird he’s here, though. It seems like a small-time event for him. Audrey is one of the sponsors, though, so I guess…”

“ _Ma-ri-neeeette!_ ” Suzuki sing-songed, still waving at her. She groaned again and looked back at Luka.

“Ok. I’ve got work to do, and so do you. Sorry I took up so much of your time,” she said.

“Take as much as you need,” he said, automatically and without thinking. He didn’t have time to regret it when she smiled at him like that. She reached out to squeeze his shoulder, using him to steady herself as she hopped up out of his chair.

“You’re sweet, Stupid,” she said with a wink, “but you really shouldn’t tell me things like that. I might take advantage of it and try to hire you as my permanent makeup guy. You’re worlds better than Antoine ever was, and this isn’t even your primary job? Color me impressed.”

“I’d rather color you pink,” he teased, then grinned as he considered her. “Maybe red. You do look amazing in red.”

He nodded towards the crimson pencil skirt she was sporting, and she laughed as she batted at his shoulder.

“Dork,” she chided. She was blushing like he’d been flirting with her. Maybe…maybe he had been. Just a little. “Take it easy tomorrow, ok?”

“Same,” he said. “Sure you’re not gonna need me?”

Her smile was still doing stupid things to his heart, but he kind of loved it.

“No,” she said, though she almost sounded regretful about it. “I just have to worry about my own makeup, and I can handle that. Though I am kind of curious to see how you’d do me. Ok, I’d love for you to do me. You’re very talen…”

Upon hearing the words _I’d love for you to do me_ leave her mouth, his brain promptly short-circuited. He choked, his mind immediately going to every Wrong, Dirty place it could think of as he tried not to imagine exactly how he’d _do her_ , because there wouldn’t be any _doing her_ , not ever, not…and he knew the moment she realized what she’d said, as her eyes had widened and her mouth had dropped open and her voice had completely cut out. He looked up at her with a helpless little grin – one he hoped didn’t see her and say _God, Yes, Do Me_ – and chuckled. His face was feeling a little warm – though he knew his blush had nothing on her own. Her eyes were wide and horrified, her cheeks almost as red as her skirt.

“R-right, any…anyway! Yeah! See you Friday!” she squeaked, awkwardly patting his shoulder before stepping around him and running off to catch up with Suzuki. He watched her go, his hands gripping his knees tightly. She was going to be the absolute death of him. He jumped when someone else dropped into his chair not a minute after Marinette had left.

“I can’t figure out if you’re just _stupid_ or the unluckiest bastard alive,” Juleka said smoothly, smirking at her phone as she typed something out. She glanced up at him, her smirk growing. “ _Stupid_.”

“Remember when I was two and didn’t have a sister yet?” Luka sighed, pushing himself up and turning back to the vanity. He saw her eyebrows rise in the mirror, and he smirked back at her. “Good times.”

She kicked at his butt, and despite the persistent _twisting_ in his chest he actually laughed when she scoffed at him.

“Jerk,” she said, tucking her phone away. She sat up straighter, angling her face towards him. “Ok, Stupid. Make me beautiful.”

“You’re already beautiful,” he said, turning back to her with a little pot of eyeshadow in his hand. She hummed, smiling at him, but she kept her eyes closed and head raised. He took a breath to steady himself, clearing his head of the conflicting thoughts that had been plaguing him all week. For almost ten years now, if he was honest. Still…now wasn’t the time to get distracted by such thoughts. Marinette was counting on him, and she was right. They had to get to work.

– V –

Marinette was not looking forward to Thursday when it dawned dark and early. She almost longed for the chaos of Monday and Tuesday (or the coming Friday) and putting on her own shows. The day should be _easy_ , since she was just networking and attending shows for other design houses, but she still had that panel. The day wouldn’t be hard, but it would be long, and sometimes that was even worse.

She had tried to heed Makeup Guy’s – _Stupid’s_ , and dear God she couldn’t believe she’d actually taken to calling him that in her head – advice and actually rest for Thursday, but it hadn’t been easy. Her mind was still whirling with a thousand little details about the rest of the week, and to make matters worse she kept thinking about _Stupid_ and the way his hands had felt in hers (rough and calloused – worker’s hands, she’d noticed). About the way he’d smiled at her when he’d thanked her for the macarons. The way he’d given her a little grin as he…he _had_ been flirting with her, right? God, she was so out of practice in that department…but she was pretty sure he had definitely been flirting with her. And…and she’d kind of liked it. Ok, she’d _really_ liked it. Enough that she’d hoped he’d keep doing it, or give her a chance to flirt back, or…

…but he had once again been gone by the time the show wrapped up Wednesday. Once she had given Suzuki a short interview, she had been so busy trying to catch up from her nap that she hadn’t really seen him again. He was already working on Juleka when Jocelyn had pulled her away to solve a problem with Brigette’s dress, and then she’d been caught up in the whirlwind of the show. She remembered seeing him walk by, his head tipped back as he downed another coffee, while she argued with a stylist over accessories. She remembered he’d shot her a look, snorting into his coffee cup when she’d threatened to do something _creative_ (and only a little obscene) with the chains the stylist had been waving at her, but he hadn’t actually _said_ anything to her. He had still been at his vanity as the show was wrapping up, but before she could talk to him she’d been swept up with post-show interviews and congratulations and Audrey wanting to confirm the schedule for Thursday and Jocelyn needing to confirm details for Friday and…by the time she’d made it back to his vanity, he was gone.

She didn’t know why it was bothering her so much. He was just filling in. Helping out because her usual guy was injured and they couldn’t find anyone else. He’d said it himself: makeup wasn’t his main job – though she was curious what was, as he’d been very close-lipped about it. Or…no, that wasn’t fair. They’d only spent maybe five or ten minutes together all week, and most of that time they’d been talking about work. Fashion and make-up work, not whatever his work was. Of course he hadn’t had the opportunity to tell her. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to tell her his name!

It was just…there was _something_ about him. He was a perfect stranger, but she felt like she’d known him for years. She’d enjoyed talking to him, that one brief conversation they’d actually had the previous day. She liked the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled (and she had a feeling if he lost the beard she’d really like his smile, too). She liked his laugh. There was a quiet calm about him that drew her in, that made her think…

She closed her eyes and took a breath, her grip tightening on the handle of her hairbrush. She hadn’t slept well the previous night, either. She didn’t know why dreams of Luka Couffaine were plaguing her _now_ , but she had once again woken with tears on her cheeks and his name on her lips. She told herself she was just tired. Overworked and overstressed. Working with Juleka always made her think about Luka, anyway, and…and…if she was honest with herself, that _something_ about Stupid – Makeup Guy! – reminded her of Luka, too. She was pretty sure it was the eyes. They had the same cool blue eyes that always reminded her of still waters and summer skies. Of bike rides through the city with his warm back pressed against her cheek and the wind in her hair.

Of…she didn’t know if she would call them _happier_ times. Not necessarily. She was happy now, after all. Just…times when she could still lean on him. Times when he was still there. Times when she did more than miss him when she thought about him.

She shook her head and pulled her brush through her hair a bit more aggressively than she should have. She was being…well, _stupid_. Stupid was Stupid, and Luka was Luka. Besides, she’d seen Luka’s last album cover. It was sitting by her stereo, admittedly buried under quite a few Jagged Stone albums where she wouldn’t have to see it all that often, but still there. The two looked…beyond the eyes, they looked _nothing_ alike. Luka still dyed his hair, for one, and she had never seen any pictures of Luka with a beard. She just…couldn’t picture it. Luka had never been the type to scream _facial_ hair. Besides, Stupid…

She just liked his work, that was all. He was really good, and that’s why she kept trying to catch him after shows. Because she had no idea how long Antoine would be out of commission, and if Stupid was willing and not too busy with his other job she’d love…

Her phone buzzed with an incoming call from Jocelyn, and she pushed any thoughts of _Stupid_ (and Luka) out of her head. She was the one being stupid now, anyway.

– V –

The rest of the day flew by in a blur of bright lights, flashing cameras, and faces pinched with too much cosmetic surgery. Marinette was pretty much glued to Audrey’s hip for the majority of the day, except for the two hours set aside for the panel. She was whisked away to one of the vanities backstage, where a woman she had never met touched up the makeup she’d applied that morning, and she’d found her mind drifting back to Stu… _Makeup Guy_ again. She’d found herself remembering her comment from the day before and wondering what he would do if she found herself in his chair, and for a moment she’d lost herself imagining the firm, gentle strokes a brush against her skin, his deep voice in her ear, his fingers brushing her hair back to expose more of the canvas of her skin…and then the woman had told her she was done, jolting her out of her little daydream, and Marinette had hurried to join the other panelists waiting to go on stage.

She’d seen enough of herself in the mirror – and enough of the others the woman had worked on – to know that _Stupid_ was worlds better than her, anyway.

She was exhausted by the time she got home, and she’d barely remembered to set her alarm before she’d crashed on the couch.

Her big show wasn’t scheduled until six on Friday night, but that didn’t mean Marinette still didn’t have worlds to do before then. Still, the sun was actually rising when she ran towards the tent Friday morning, and that was a small something. She felt ready. She felt confident. She felt like she needed to chug the coffee still cooling in her hand, she thought dryly as she flashed her badge at security. They waved her in, and she took a gulp of said coffee as she moved towards the back.

She was surprised (and pleased) to see Stup… _Makeup Guy_ already stationed at his vanity, nursing his own coffee as he spoke with Juleka. Juleka spotted her first and waved, but before she could join them Logan – her hair guy ( _Hair Visionary_ , his catty voice insisted in her head) – was pulling her over to complain about a model who had shown up with kinks in her hair.

“ _Kinks_ , Marinette!” he wailed. Marinette’s eyes narrowed on the model, studying her hair as she pulled out her tablet. The model – Odessa, she thought – was chewing gum and staring at her phone in an absolute state of ennui. “When she’s supposed to have _waves!_ Oh, it will take me _forever_ to undo this mess!”

“Oh, relax – it’s not the end of the world,” Marinette huffed, tapping her screen to flip through her notes. She nodded and looked up, scanning the faces around them. Spotting the model she was looking for, she snapped her fingers and waved her over. “Jessica! C’mere!”

“Mari- _nette_ ,” Logan whined, but she gave him a Look that had his mouth snapping shut. It was a look she had perfected over the years, first babysitting Manon and then working under Audrey.

“Switch them,” she said. “Finish up with her. Their sizes are close enough the alterations won’t take long. I’ll just…no, wait. Ok. Jess, get out of that dress and…”

Soon enough the dresses were switched, Logan was appeased, and Marinette was ushering Jessica back to fix what she could with her new dress (which, thankfully, was mostly hem work and could be done quick enough). They passed makeup on the way, and Marinette called to Makeup Guy, “Jess and Odessa are switching – three and eight, Stupid!”

Juleka’s cackles followed after her, but she was already shouting for a lighting tech to make the proper adjustments on their end. She lost herself in the chaos, falling into the familiar pulse and drive of any fashion show. Even if this one was different, special, _hers_ , it was still a fashion show. She had done this a million times. The commanding voice of a leader – of their boss, of Ladybug – took over, and she got to work. Four hours in, her eyes were crossing as she touched up some beadwork on a shirt. Something flicked the back of her head, and she swatted at it before resuming her work. She was flicked again, but the flicking was accompanied by the tapping of a coffee cup beside her on the case where her supplies were laid out.

“From Stupid,” Juleka said when Marinette looked up. She gestured to the case. A granola bar was sitting on the lid of the coffee cup (her favorite, lemon with the white chocolate drizzled on top). “With a reminder to take care of yourself, too.”

Juleka’s smirk was _vicious._

“He’s sweet on you, huh?” she teased.

Marinette felt her face warm as she reached for the coffee. She drank it to avoid answering Juleka. Somehow, _Stupid_ had prepared it just the way she liked. She smiled and asked Juleka to thank him. Juleka lingered as she opened the granola bar, the scrutinizing look on her face making Marinette’s burn hotter.

“W-what?” Marinette asked, her eyes widening a little. Juleka hummed, tapping her fingers against her elbow.

“What do you think about him?” she asked, making Marinette choke on her coffee. “Stupid, I mean. Thoughts?”

“I-I…he’s nice?” Marinette said, though it sounded more like a question. She hated how uncertain she sounded. Aubergine – and really, what the hell kind of name was _Aubergine_ , stupid models – snickered, and Marinette made sure to poke her on the next stitch. The model scowled down at her, but Marinette just stuck her tongue out at her. “It’s been crazy, Jules. I’ve talked to him maybe ten minutes this entire week, and only about work stuff. His work is brilliant, though. If Antoine’s out of commission for a while, I was thinking about asking him if we could use him for a bit. Maybe keep him on retainer.”

“…yeah, that’s what he said, too,” Juleka sighed. Marinette frowned. She almost seemed sad about that, but Marinette couldn’t for the life of her figure out _why_. What did it matter to Juleka what she thought about… _Stupid?_ “About how little you’ve seen each other. Talking about work. If it was anybody else, he’d probably say no about going on retainer. He likes you, though, so maybe…”

“I think Rose is rubbing off on you,” Marinette teased, smirking at her. “Are you trying to set us up, Jules? That’s more Rose’s shtick.”

Juleka scoffed and turned away, nodding as Logan hollered for her. She waved at him to indicate she’d heard him.

“Whatever,” she said, her voice clipped. “You’re _both_ stupid.”

Marinette didn’t have time to wonder what she meant by that. Juleka was already walking away, and Marinette had to tie off her thread.

In almost no time at all, a tech was walking through the backstage area, hollering, “All right, MDC Designs! One hour to show time!” Marinette cursed, patting Aubergine’s leg and standing.

“Ok,” she said. “Go see makeup, then you should be good to go!”

It was the last model Stupid would have to paint, or at least she should have been. Maybe five minutes after she’d sent Aubergine away (or maybe it was fifteen), she was reading through her notecards for the brief interview she’d be doing with Audrey after the show when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find Stupid smiling at her. He waved a makeup brush at her.

“Got fifteen minutes to spare?” he asked. “I’m told you’re taking a catwalk at the end, and it only seems fair I get to do you, too.”

Her mouth dropped open – the grin he was giving her should’ve been _illegal_ – and she almost dropped her notecards. She spluttered a little, and he chuckled a little laugh that had her stupid heart skipping in her chest (or maybe it was her throat).

“I-I…” she stammered. His expression softened, and he took the notecards from her hands.

“C’mon, Marinette,” he said. “You’re ready. Let me do this for you, please? To say thank you. You said you were curious.”

“But…there’s less than an hour…” she tried to argue, but he was already leading her over to his vanity. They passed Juleka on the way, but she missed the _Look_ her old friend shot them. He sat her down in the chair, his hands squeezing her shoulders before he reached for one of the many canisters lining the table.

“Good thing I’m fast,” he teased, placing a finger under her chin and tilting her head up to look at him. His thumb brushed against the skin of her jaw, and she fought a shiver at the touch. Her heart lurched at the look in his eyes. She knew those eyes, knew that look, but… “And you did a pretty good job yourself this morning. I can build from there. Ten minutes tops. Maybe fifteen.”

“…ok,” she agreed, the word coming out in a whispered breath. His smile brightened, his thumb pressing against the bottom of her cheek before he reached for another brush.

“Close your eyes and relax, ok?” he said. “And don’t move unless I tell you.”

She could do part of that, at least, she thought as she closed her eyes. She made no promises about _relaxing_ , though. Her fingers tapped against her knees, jittery energy running through her.

“Stop that,” he chuckled, and her lips quirked in a smile. She felt a brush sweeping over her eyelids, and her fingers stilled. “You have no reason to be nervous. You’re amazing, Marinette. You always have been. Everyone’s going to realize that the second the curtain goes up.”

“You sound so certain,” she hummed, fighting the urge to raise her eyebrows at him. It would only mess up his work. He continued to sweep the brush against her eyes, his strokes steady and sure. “You’ve seen my work before, then?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, and if he wasn’t still working on her eyes she would have opened them to look at him. It was strange, the way he always seemed to hesitate when she hinted at a possible shared past. As if she made him nervous.

“I’ve known Juleka a long time,” he said after a moment. “She’s been working with you a long time.”

“But we’ve never worked together,” she said, lifting her hand to gesture between them.

“…no,” he answered after a moment. “I’ve never done your makeup before. At _Bourgeois_ or _Gabriel_.”

“And yet you’re so certain this show will be a success,” she said, a teasing lilt to her voice. He tapped her nose, and her lips quirked in a smile.

“Because your shows earlier this week were successes,” he said. “So this one has to be, too, right? Bourgeois’s a pretty big name in the industry, right? I don’t think she’d back you like she’s been if she wasn’t certain you had a bright future.”

“The real test is October,” she sighed. “Fashion Week in New York. No chance you’ll be free then, huh?”

He didn’t answer, and she laughed nervously.

“I’m kidding,” she amended. “Mostly. I’m sure Antoine will be recovered by then. You’re just…kinda amazing, and I love what you’ve done this week. Kinda want to keep you with me.”

He still didn’t say anything, but she frowned when she heard him suck in a breath.

“I…I don’t know where I’m going to be in October, honestly,” he said after a long, tense moment. “I’ve kind of been between things for a bit, but…things have been looking up lately. I might not even be in the country in October.”

“Neither will I,” she said with a little smirk. He chuckled and tapped her lips. “New York, remember?”

“Stop talking,” he instructed. “I’m gonna do your lips.”

She closed her mouth, and she found she actually was more relaxed than she had been just moments ago. She wondered at how easily he could do that, calm her rattling nerves with just a few words and a touch. She felt pressure on her lips, a cloth rubbing away the color she had applied that morning, before…she sucked in a breath as she felt his breath blow across her lips. She knew he was just trying to dry the remover, but…his breath smelled like mints and coffee. And then a brush was sweeping across her upper lip, and she could still feel his warm breath fanning against her cheek, and…

…she was being _ridiculous_. She didn’t know this man from Adam. Hell, she’d been calling him _Stupid_ for the better part of three days. A voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Alya sing-songed that she was just _lonely_ , and he was a very attractive man, and that’s all this was. A voice that sounded like Rose sighed that he was creative, and passionate, and believed in her, and looked like…and maybe she didn’t want him around in eight months _just_ so he could do her makeup for New York’s Fashion Week. That maybe she –

“Ok,” he said, snapping her out of her rapidly-spiraling thoughts. “All done. You can look now.”

When she did, her breath caught in her throat. He’d given her a perfect smoky eye, replaced the pale pink on her lips for a deep red that begged to be kissed, and tied it all together with a natural blush. Her blue eyes were striking against the charcoals of the shadow and mascara. She looked…bewitching, yet…still like herself. He was right: he’d only enhanced what she’d already done, and it was gorgeous.

_She_ was gorgeous.

“I…thank you,” she said, looking up at him with a blinding smile. “I look amazing. Beautiful.”

“You _are_ beautiful,” he chuckled. He tapped her nose again, and she rolled her eyes. “Makeup doesn’t _make_ you beautiful, Marinette. It just…enhances what’s already there. Draws focus to the beauty underneath.”

“Juleka was right,” she said, her cheeks warming. “You are sweet. Thank you. Really.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said. He lightly cuffed her on the shoulder, and she laughed at the teasing gesture. “Now go knock ‘em dead, Marinette.”

She grinned at him, nodding once before she picked up the notecards he’d placed on his vanity, and then she was back into the fray.

The rest of that last hour flew by in a blur of faces, fabrics, stitches, and accessories. She could hear the music starting as Audrey Bourgeois took the stage to introduce the line, speaking in buzz words of _bold choices_ and _dramatic designs_ , a _stunning fresh talent sure to knock the world of fashion on its ear!_ The models assembled as she raved on, and Marinette ran through with a final quick inspection. Satisfied, she stopped between Brigette and the tech behind the curtain, nervously wringing her hands.

This was it.

Everything she’d been working towards came down to this one moment. The next twenty minutes could make or break her career. And this time, it was all on her: Audrey was sponsoring her, yes, but it was _Marinette’s_ name on the label. There was no safety net to catch her if she failed.

She glanced back towards the tent, the bright lights of his vanity drawing her eyes to Stupid. He was leaning against his counter, arms folded across his chest as he watched the lineup, his eyes locked on her. There was such a look of pride and warmth on his face…her heart fluttered, and she blushed under his gaze.

She could do this.

She was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Ladybug.

She had this.

“And now, without further ado, _M! D! C! Desiiiiigns!_ ” Audrey cried, drawing the brand out like she was Oprah giving away cars. The curtain pulled back for the first model, and Marinette released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

It was go time.


	4. Getting to Know…*You*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette finally gets more than 15-25 minutes to talk to Stupid, and it's going really well...until Luka Couffaine has to ruin everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fashion Week is technically over, but Luka’s not in the clear just yet. Or: in which Nothing Goes According to Plan. (I mentioned the song earlier, but the one I’m using as Luka’s ‘Marinette Song’ is Trading Yesterday’s “She Is The Sunlight”.)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4m66jwqJKg

It had been the longest twenty minutes of her life.

It had also been the _best_ twenty minutes of her life.

Before she knew it, the models had walked and Marinette was being ushered out into the bright lights, smiling and walking confidently towards her former employer in heels that would have killed her when she was younger. And then Audrey Bourgeois was finishing the interview – a few simple questions on what her vision for the fashion world was and where they could expect to see her in oh, say, eight months (“Knocking them on their asses in New York, of course!”) – and had turned towards the audience, holding out her hand and declaring, “Ladies and gentlemen, Marinette Dupain-Cheng!”

They had gone _wild_.

Marinette was used to having her designs praised. She was used to hearing other designers and buyers and reporters and the Big Names of her industry cheering for her work. But she wasn’t used to them cheering solely for _her_ , without the umbrella of Audrey Bourgeois covering her. She beamed, her chest swelling with pride as she bowed. For the first time, she actually felt like a professional designer. Like she had made it.

It was a really good feeling.

And then it was chaos. She was ushered off the runway under Audrey’s guiding arm, a crush of faces (some she recognized and some she did not) swarming around them to meet the brilliant young designer. Her hands were grasped in firm shakes, she was pulled into tight hugs, and her ears were ringing with the high-pitched laughs of _Darlings_ and _Genius_ and _Brilliant – Utterly Brilliant!_. All the while she smiled and laughed, playing along with a game that was second-nature to her by now and only kind of faking her enthusiasm. She could see Jocelyn directing the mess backstage, after all, guiding the models and crew and leading the clean-up, and despite the high of a successful show she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty.

That should have been _her_ job, but Marinette had to remind herself that she was the face of the company. Her place was now out here, schmoozing with the people who would promote and buy her work. She’d hired Jocelyn specifically so she could handle the more technical details, like cleaning up after a big show.

That didn’t mean Marinette didn’t still feel guilty for not being back there to help or celebrate with her team.

A champagne glass was pressed into her fingers, and she automatically raised it to join in the toast being made in her honor. Her cheeks flushed as the small group around her erupted in enthusiastic applause, and she laughed as she took a little bow.

“Sooooo…?” a man with hair so blonde it was almost white, all spiked up on his head like a bad 90s throwback, wheedled, nudging her side with his elbow. She recognized him from one of the Italian fashion houses. They’d worked together under Audrey multiple times, usually in New York. Pierre? Pietro? Paul? “Any big plans for tonight, Miss Hotshot Fashion Designer?”

“Are you offering, Salvatore?” Audrey snickered, almost waspishly. “Much as I think Marinette deserves a good lay, I think your boyfriend might have a few things to say about that.”

Marinette choked a little and tried to cover it up with a hasty gulp of her champagne. It didn’t really help, and she ended up coughing again. Salvatore scowled at Audrey as he patted her back.

“Max appreciates beauty in all forms,” he sniffed, his hand lingering on Marinette’s back. “He’d welcome Marinetta in our bed. But no, that’s _not_ what I was asking.”

He gave Marinette a roguish grin, and she rolled her eyes as she sipped her drink a little slower.

“I was simply curious how you were planning to celebrate the night, Marinetta,” he said, tapping his fingers against her back before withdrawing his hand. “ _Please_ tell me you’re going to celebrate. You’ve earned it! Audrey’s right – loosen up a little!”

“I…” Marinette stammered, her face warming again. She glanced backstage, where her staff was still packing up. They had mentioned celebrating earlier in the day. Something about a party back at the studio? “I think Jocelyn organized something back at our studio? I’ve heard talk of it throughout the week. Either to celebrate our success or mourn our failure. Honestly, I was so busy I barely paid attention.”

“Well, do _something_ , darling,” Salvatore said. “This is _your_ night. If nothing else, I really will drag you out with Max and me for drinks!”

Marinette forced a smile and finished her champagne. Another quickly replaced it, and then she was being pulled over to another group Audrey had spotted lingering in the tent. One group led to another, the conversations and faces blurring as she nursed her second glass, and then a third, until she honestly wasn’t sure who was who and was just smiling and nodding for polite conversation. By the time Audrey’s own phone started buzzing, reminding the mogul she did have other commitments that night, Marinette was exhausted and more than a little dizzy.

“You were wonderful tonight,” Audrey said, leaning in to kiss her cheeks in a traditional bise. “Mwah, mwah! Now – go enjoy yourself! Celebrate! I’ll call you in the morning, darling!”

The backstage area was mostly cleared out by the time Marinette made her way back there, with only a few stragglers left. Most of the models had left, and Jocelyn was directing a few burly men who were loading up heavier cases onto a van to be carted back towards the studio (or maybe that was the rental company – she wasn’t quite sure). Juleka had changed into a violet cocktail dress with black tights and a black lace poncho, her winter coat slung over her arm as she tapped on her phone. She smiled when she saw Marinette and waved her over.

“You did great,” she said, hugging her. Marinette smiled, squeezing her back.

“So did you,” she said. “Thank you. For everything. I heard there’s a celebratory shindig going on at the studio – are you coming?”

“I just have to meet Rose, and then we’ll both be there,” she said. Marinette bit her lip when she pulled away, and Juleka lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow at her. She reached up, nervously tugging on some hairs that hand come loose from her bun.

“Do…do you know if Stupid’s coming?” she asked, glancing up at her. “It…only seems fair, you know. He _was_ part of the staff this week. This is as much a win for him as it is for the rest of us.”

“…I don’t know if he’d see it that way,” Juleka said, her smile a little bittersweet. She glanced over her shoulder and inclined her head. “But you have a point. You could always ask him yourself, you know. If you want him that badly.”

Marinette choked again, and she didn’t even have any champagne to blame it on that time. Juleka smirked at her before turning away, wiggling her fingers in a little wave.

“See you in a bit, Marinette,” she said, shooting another look behind her. Marinette turned to find Stupid was still at his vanity. It looked like he was still packing up his case, which was surprising. He was usually long gone by now. Every other show, he had left long before she’d even made it backstage. Everyone else but the ones who absolutely had to be there already were, after all. So why wasn’t he?

Was he…had he been…waiting for her?

She shook her head, dismissing the ridiculous notion. It was just the adrenaline rush from a successful show. And the champagne ( _way_ too much champagne…). And stupid Pierre-Pietro- _Salvatore_ , implying that she was lonely and needed to get…

“Hey!” she called, probably a bit louder than she should have (in an attempt to cut off the _thoughts_ clamoring in her brain). He continued to pack his case, and she wondered if he honestly hadn’t heard her or if he had just tuned her out as part of the backstage noise still bustling around him. “Stupid!”

…he actually looked up at that, and her hand clamped over her smile as she choked on a laugh. His lips quirked into a smile of his own, and she raised her other hand to wave at him. He zipped up his case and leaned back against the vanity, his arms folded over his chest. He had _really_ nice arms. She didn’t know how he wasn’t freezing, wearing sleeveless tanks in February, but she wasn’t about to complain when they provided such a lovely sight. By the time she walked over to him, her face was warm again.

She was choosing to blame it on the champagne and not…y’know. _Hormones_. She wasn’t some stupid horny teenager desperate to get laid, after all. No matter what Audrey or Salvietro seemed to think.

“I can’t believe you actually answer to that,” she snorted, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I _want_ to know your actual name now. It must be something _horrible_ , like…I don’t know… _Humperdink_ or something, if you’re willing to answer to _Stupid_.”

His face twitched again, the mustache of his beard wiggling as his smile grew. She really wished he would shave. She’d love to know what he looked like without all that hair. He reached up to scratch at the beard, still smiling at her.

“…almost,” he said, chuckling. “My mother found my name etched on the wall of a castle when she was a teenager backpacking through Wales. Have you ever heard Welsh, Marinette? _Stupid_ is better, trust me.”

“Ok, then,” she laughed, pressing her face into her hands. “Oh my God. Ok. You’re Stupid, then.”

“…it’s growing on me,” he chuckled. She glanced up at him over her fingers, biting her lip. Her face felt hot under her hands. He was just standing there, smiling at her. She didn’t know what to make of that. She coughed after a moment, lowering her hands and folding them in front of her. She broke his gaze, staring instead at their feet. He was wearing motorcycle boots.

“A-anyway,” she said, clearing her throat before continuing. “I’m glad you stuck around today.”

“It seemed rude to rush off again,” he said, shifting a little. He glanced back at his case. “I don’t have anywhere to be tonight, anyway. The least I could do is hang around to congratulate you on a successful show. It sounded like the audience really liked you.”

He was looking at her again, a warmth in his eyes that made her stomach flutter. When he looked at her like that – and she was noticing he looked at her like that a lot – it was hard to remember that he was a stranger. The familiarity in his eyes was almost painful sometimes, like…like she was missing something important. Like she _should_ know him, but…he always insisted they’d never met. So she couldn’t, right? No matter how familiar he seemed. He just…had one of those faces. He was just that type of personality. Comforting and familiar and safe. That’s all it was.

…right?

“Congratulations, Marinette,” he said, his voice low and warm. He dipped his head towards her, and her breath caught. “You were amazing tonight.”

“Th-thank you,” she stammered, then found herself wincing. God, what was wrong with her? She hadn’t stuttered around a guy in _years_ …she cleared her throat again before looking back at him. “You were, too, you know. All week. You’re probably getting sick of me saying it, but thank you. Seriously. You really saved my ass this week.”

“I just painted some faces, Marinette,” he said, chuckling. “You did all the hard work.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm. His eyes flicked down to her hand before looking back at her. “Yeah, it’s my name on the clothes, but makeup’s important, too. Clothes can only do so much. For a look to come together and _work_ , you need the whole deal. Clothes, accessories, hair, _makeup_ …you did that, Stupid. You. You brought my designs to life. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

He didn’t say anything, but his expression softened. His arm shifted beneath her, his hand covering her own and squeezing in a silent thanks, and for a moment they just stood there smiling at each other. It was strange, how she couldn’t help but think she’d like to stay there smiling at him.

…he intrigued her. That was all. Yes, he was very attractive, but…he was also talented. Interesting. She thought she might like to get to know him better. That’s all. That had to be all. _Right?_

“Anyway…” she said after a moment, looking down at their hands. “I just…wanted to say thanks. Again. And…I’m told there’s a party going on back at the office? Big celebration for a successful week. You are coming, right?”

His eyes widened just enough that she knew he hadn’t known about the party, or if he had he certainly hadn’t expected the invitation. That seemed silly to her, though. He’d been part of the team this week – why wouldn’t she invite him?

“I…ah…if it’s an office thing –” he started, but she flipped their hands to squeeze his.

“Please?” she entreated. “You were part of the office this week. Please come? You should be there. Celebrate with us.” He still looked uncertain, so she squeezed his hands again. “Please. You’ve earned it, too. Besides, I still want to talk to you about October. Or at least about keeping your information on file so I can use you again.”

She leaned in and winked, and for a moment she thought she saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

“I’m becoming a big fan,” she stage-whispered. After another moment of indecision, he finally sighed and shook his head. When he looked back up at her, he was smiling again.

“…all right,” he finally said. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

“Great!” she said, and he chuckled when she bounced a little in her excitement. She wobbled a little when her feet were back on the ground, and he reached out to steady her. She actually _giggled_ when she smiled at him in thanks. “Ok, let me just grab my bag, and we can go together, all right?”

“…together?” he asked as she stated to walk away. She looked over her shoulder, grinning at him.

“Of course,” she said. “You don’t know where my studio is, right? Besides. I like you, Stupid. I’ve actually really enjoyed the brief moments we’ve spoken this week, and I’d like to speak some more. You’re ok with that, right?”

She dipped her head, almost smirking at him now, and he blinked as if she’d dazed him. He nodded mutely, and her smile came back in full force.

“Great! Be right back!” she said, rushing off to the locker she’d stashed her purse in.

Luka stood there when she’d gone, almost numb as he wondered what the hell had just happened.

“…I am so fucked,” he groaned, reaching up to rub at his face. There was laughter in his head that sounded suspiciously like Juleka. Maybe he deserved to be called _Stupid_ after all…

– V –

Jocelyn had been waiting for her in the section they’d commandeered as their ‘office’, tablet at the ready to go over some of the new contacts they’d made over the week. Marinette had laughed at her eagerness before she’d pulled her in for a hug.

“Joce,” she laughed, patting her back. “We made it. This has been a hell of a week. Isn’t there a party with my name on it going on right now?” She’d clapped her hands on her shoulders when she pulled back, squeezing gently. “Go to the party, Joce. Take the win. Enjoy the night. We can worry about details tomorrow. Or Monday – I think I like Monday.”

Jocelyn wasn’t used to things like _relaxing_ , but she still smiled back at her and nodded. She’d offered to go to the studio with her, but Marinette had sent one look over her shoulder, biting her lip as she saw Stupid still waiting for her.

“I…I actually told Stupid I’d take him,” she said. Jocelyn’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“…Stupid?” she asked, and Marinette laughed before nodding towards the man in question. It looked like was texting someone. “Oh. Monsieur –”

“Nope!” Marinette said quickly, clapping a hand over Jocelyn’s mouth. Her eyebrows rose, and Marinette grinned at her. “I…ok, I haven’t actually caught his name yet? And…maybe it’s dumb, but I want _him_ to tell me. It almost feels like I need to earn it by this point.”

Jocelyn just stared at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was. She was definitely at least a _little_ drunk, and sometimes that was almost the same thing.

“…o…k…” Jocelyn said when she lowered her hand. She shrugged and reached for her purse. “I’ll just…see you two there, then.”

“See you in a bit,” she said, waving as she left. Jocelyn stopped by Stupid on her way out, and Marinette almost laughed at the stern look her assistant gave the poor guy, who looked somewhere between amused and terrified at whatever the petite woman was telling him. When Jocelyn walked off (with her heels clicking threateningly against the pavement, Marinette was sure) and Stupid looked back at her, the look on his face made her pause. The look of amused fear was melting into something softer, something almost wistful. She looked away before she could dwell too much on it, grabbing her purse before double-checking the space to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything. Once she was satisfied they hadn’t, she turned and went back to Stupid.

“Ready?” she asked, gesturing towards the exit. The look that flashed across his face told her he most certainly wasn’t, but he was smiling a moment later. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he dipped his head towards her.

“Lead the way,” he said.

Outside, Jocelyn had left the car waiting for them. Usually, Marinette would have just hailed a cab or called an Über, but Audrey had insisted on hiring her a driver for the week. She didn’t want to risk any chance of Marinette being late, she’d claimed (which…hadn’t really worked _every_ day, but had helped _most_ days). Marinette hadn’t complained, but only because Audrey was paying for it. If the money for the driver wasn’t actually coming out of her budget and Audrey had insisted, she didn’t really see the point in fighting. Stupid stashed his makeup case in the back before moving to her door. She smiled when he opened it for her, offering a silly little bow in the process.

“After you,” he said. She rolled her eyes and climbed in, mentally chiding him for being a dork.

“So what did Joce say to you, anyway?” she asked once they were both inside the car. She dropped her bag on the floor between them and leaned forward, grinning at the driver. He was an older gentleman who had been working for Audrey for years. Marinette had spent many nights in the back of one of his cars, kicking stylish yet impractical heels off while talking to him about his two kids and five grandchildren. “Hey, Claude! Good to see you again! We’re just heading back to the studio. Er…my studio, not Audrey’s.”

“Of course, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng,” the driver replied. He waited for them to buckle up before pulling out onto the street.

“Joce?” Stupid asked, looking to her.

“Jocelyn,” she said, an eyebrow lifting. “My assistant?”

“Oh, right,” he said, nodding. He tipped his head back, looking out the moonroof, and shrugged a little. He almost looked… _embarrassed_. “Nothing, really. Nothing too bad, at least. I think she was trying to scare me.”

“Scare you?” Marinette laughed, and he shrugged again. He gave her a helpless little smile.

“Apparently she doesn’t like the way I’ve been looking at you,” he said with a chuckle. Marinette raised her eyebrow a bit higher and leaned closer to him, inclining her head a little.

“…you’ve been looking at me?” she asked, her voice sounding almost sultry. Like she was flirting with him (she definitely was). He picked his head up, blue eyes wide as he stared at her, his mouth slightly open. It was dark in the car, but as they passed under a streetlight and she got a better look she would have sworn he was blushing. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and wiggled her eyebrows, and his mouth snapped shut with an audible _click_ of his teeth.

“That’s…incredibly unfair,” he groaned, and she laughed as she settled back in her seat.

“I’m sorry,” she said, gripping her seatbelt to keep herself from fidgeting with her hands. “You’re right. That was…I’m sorry. I…don’t think I’d mind if you were, though?”

He picked his head back up, and now she was pretty sure she was the one blushing. She looked out the window, still worrying her lip.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said, “and if you aren’t interested, please tell me to stop. It’s just…I know we haven’t spoken a whole lot this week, but when we have I’ve really enjoyed talking to you? And you already know how impressed I am with your work. And you’re really hot.”

He made a little choking noise, and she squeaked before burying her face in her hands.

“A-attractive! You’re…I mean…oh, hell…” she groaned. She’d _definitely_ had too much to drink after the show. She peeked out from behind her hands when he laid a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re really hot, too,” he told her with a little laugh, smiling warmly despite the slightly _off_ look behind his expression. She’d almost call it unease, but what did he have to be uneasy about? Her lips twitched in her own smile, and she lowered her hands.

“I just…I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better,” she said, resting her hands in her lap. “That’s all I meant. So…I know Jocelyn means well. Her heart’s in the right place, but she doesn’t have to worry about me so much. So. Just. Don’t let her scare you.”

“She’s not the one who scares me, Marinette,” he said, his voice soft and so low she almost hadn’t heard him. She turned, tilting her head to the side, but before she could ask him what he’d meant by that he dropped his head back against the seat and turned towards her, smiling at her in a way that did dizzying things to her stomach. “You know, you’re a lot bolder than I…” his eyes widened almost imperceptibly (she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been staring at him so intently), and there was the barest hesitation before he said, “…imagined you’d be.”

“I wasn’t always,” she said, leaning back against her own seat. He was smiling again, or maybe he hadn’t stopped. She didn’t think she had, either. “I used to be a _disaster_ , but I’ve been working under Audrey Bourgeois since I was sixteen. You learn to be… _bold_ pretty quick around her, or you don’t survive.”

“The fashion world does seem like a shark-eat-shark place,” he said, nodding. His eyes closed, just a little too long to call it a blink, before he nodded. “I’m glad you survived. I like that you’re bold, Marinette. Confidence looks good on you.”

A happy little thrill filled her, and she turned to look out the window. She glanced back at him, smiling slyly.

“So…does that mean you’ll reconsider October?” she asked. He laughed in response.

“I honestly don’t know where I’ll be in October,” he said. “I wasn’t lying about that. My work…it takes me all over most times. This is the longest I’ve been in one place in years.”

“What do you do, anyway? You’ve never actually said,” she asked, curious. He looked down at his hands, his thumb spinning one of the rings he wore. She smiled a little at the tick, thinking of a boy she used to know who used to do the same thing.

“I…I’m…” he trailed off, his hands clenching so tightly the edges blanched. Her eyebrows rose at the reaction. Surely it couldn’t be _that_ bad? He almost seemed embarrassed to tell her. She couldn’t help but think it was strange – like when he had struggled to tell her his name the first time she’d asked. _What do you do_ seemed like just as simple a question as _what’s your name_ , yet he seemed to struggle with both. “I…play. Music. Sort of. I’ve been struggling with it lately.”

“…you’re a musician?” she asked, sitting up a bit straighter. He nodded mutely, his thumb flicking his ring again. When she laughed, she was horrified to hear it sounded a little manic in her ears. He glanced up at her, and she shook her head, dazed. “I…guess I have a type. Wow. That’s… _weird_.”

“A type?” he asked, and she hummed as she settled back into her seat. She looked out the window, smiling.

“Dark hair, blue eyes, good with a guitar – don’t tell me you play guitar,” she said, looking back at him with a little smile. He still seemed uncomfortable.

“I play a lot of things,” he said noncommittally, shrugging a little. She blinked at him for a moment, processing what he had just said and the awkward little smile he’d been wearing since he’d said it, and then…she snorted. Her hand flew up to her face, clapping over her mouth as she started snickering, then _laughing_ , and he turned back to her with an amused (or maybe _bemused_ ) look on his face. Her other arm had wrapped around her stomach, but she was laughing so hard she could feel tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “What? I do.”

“Oh my God,” she wheezed, doubling over as far as her seatbelt would allow her, “you did _not_ just say that. That…that’s…” She sat up a bit straighter and pouted her lips, going for an _Unaffected Cool Guy_ look. “ _I play a lot of things_. If anyone else had said it, I’d call them a pretentious ass. I’d say you were just trying to impress me.”

His smile was a little lopsided as he continued to watch her. She shot a toothy grin back at him.

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled with another little shrug. He didn’t sound very sure of himself, though, so she leaned back towards him, her grin growing.

“Maybe it’s work…” she started to say, and then the world dropped out from under her. The radio had been playing during the entire ride, a soft background noise meant to keep their conversation as private as it could from the driver. Marinette had hardly been paying attention to it, much more fascinated by Stupid and their delightful conversation, until a familiar strumming reached her ears. She would know that song anywhere. Her heart skipped several beats, her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened as she stared at Stupid like…and then Luka Couffaine started singing on the radio. “…ing…”

_“If all the flowers faded away…and if all the storm clouds decided to stay…”_ Luka’s pained, haunting voice echoed from the speakers. Marinette felt her hands clenching into fists around her seatbelt, her nails biting into her palms. _“Then you would find me each hour the same…she is tomorrow, and I am today…”_

“C-Claude!” she gasped, turning quickly towards the front of the car, but the driver was already clicking the radio off. The sudden silence of the car felt crushing. Her harsh breaths sounded painfully loud in her own ears.

“Apologies, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng,” Claude answered, glancing into the rearview mirror at her with concern. She barely noticed it, though. Her ears were ringing, her blood rushing through them. She jumped when Stupid reached over to put his hand on her knee, his hand shaking. Or maybe she was the one shaking. She turned towards him, but he was blurry. She blinked in confusion, then gasped as she felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Marinette?” he asked, his hand squeezing her knee gently. She was definitely the one shaking. “Are you all right?”

…was she? She suddenly wasn’t so sure she was.

“I…I’m fine,” she answered, but it felt like a lie in her ears. She closed her eyes and hung her head, reaching up to scrub the tears away. Why was she crying? She was being so _stupid_. It was just a song. It was just _Luka’s_ song. It was just a massively successful song Luka had written…she was pretty sure about her. “I…I just…really don’t like that song.”

She lowered her hands, staring over her fingertips at the glowing numbers of the clock on the radio. She missed the way Stupid’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Wasn’t that…?” he started, and her body recoiled in a way that was too intense to call a wince. She actually flinched. She had almost forgotten. Stupid knew Juleka. Well enough that she recommended him to people, that she referred to him by a nickname instead of an actual name. It would make sense that he would know Luka, too – especially if he played music. She wondered if that’s where Juleka had met him instead of the makeup thing. If the makeup thing was just…something useful he did on the side. “It’s…ah…I thought it was a pretty popular song.”

“You know _Hey There Delilah?_ ” she asked, finally looking up at him. She couldn’t read the look on his face. He nodded, waiting for her to continue. “Massively popular song about a long-distance relationship? And then it turns out Delilah was just a crush, happily dating someone else, and the song kind of ruined her life?”

“Er…yeah,” he said, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck. “I’m…aware of the story behind the song, yeah.”

“I’m Delilah,” she said with a bittersweet smile. She frowned as she glanced back at her shaking hands. “Or…I guess I’m Sunlight?”

She supposed that was more appropriate. The song was called _Sunlight_ , anyway, and in the hook he sang over and over: _“’Cause she is the sunlight, and the sun is gone…”_

It sounded a little…she wasn’t sure. _Pretentious_ , maybe, to say you were someone’s sunlight. Their sun. Except she wasn’t the one who had said it in the first place: Luka was.

Stupid didn’t say anything in response to that. She felt the car stop, and she realized they were at a red light. Her hands were still shaking.

“Juleka and I have been friends since collège,” she said. “We went to lycée together. I met her brother my last year in collège.”

“Marinette, you don’t have to…” Stupid started, but she shook her head. He stopped talking and nodded, waiting for her to continue.

“Luka and I…we got pretty close. He knew me at a very difficult time in my life. He was…amazing. He helped me through so much – more than I think he ever realized,” she said. She leaned her head against the window, looking out at the dark street beyond. “He…we never dated, but I think he was the first boy I really loved. Or I could have, if…he left to chase his dream before…and I haven’t spoken to him since.”

A mirthless laugh bubbled up out of her. She closed her eyes again, making herself take a few deep breaths. Tried to find her center and stop her head from spinning. It was only kind of working.

“It’s stupid, you know? Because I don’t actually know that song’s about me. I haven’t spoken to him to confirm it, and Juleka…we don’t talk about Luka. Because I’m too much of a coward and it’s not fair to put her in the middle of things. But I just…I _know_ that song’s my song. I _know_ I broke his heart, and I _know_ I can never take that back,” she said, her voice still wobbly. She glanced over at him, and she was surprised to find his own eyes looked glassy. There was such a tortured look on his face…she sat up, shaking her head quickly. “Oh, no – no, please, it’s…I’m fine, really, it’s just…I hear that song and it brings it all back. But I’m ok! Please, I’m so sorry – I didn’t mean to –”

She wasn’t exactly sure what happened next, or even how it had happened. One minute he was staring at her like she had just ripped his heart out, and the next his seatbelt was off and he was on top of her, pressing her back against the door, his hands cradling her face as his mouth moved over hers. She gasped into the kiss, and then his tongue was in her mouth and…

He kissed her desperately, like it was something he’d wanted his entire life and yet knew this would be his only chance to have. He kissed her like she was oxygen and he was a drowning man lost at sea. He kissed her…like she was sunlight, and his sun had been gone for entirely too long. And the worst part was…she kissed him back.

She hadn’t kissed anyone in so long. She had forgotten how nice being kissed could be – and being kissed like _that?_ A little mewling sound escaped her as his tongue stroked hers, and the next thing she knew her hands were sliding along his sides and up his back to grip at his shoulders, pulling him closer as she slid down the door. One of his hands left her face, dropping to brace against the seat, and the other tilted her head back a little more. Some distant part of her mind was dimly aware of the radio turning back on – of the station switching to some bland talk show or podcast - and the partition that had been down all night sliding up to afford them some privacy. A breathy giggle tried to escape her, and that only made Stupid groan and kiss her harder.

She didn’t mind. She was…really enjoying this, if she was honest with herself. He was a really good kisser. _Really_ good. She was caught up in the feeling of his mouth on hers, of his hand moving from her face to her side, around her waist to splay his long fingers against her lower back. It was too easy to forget why she had been upset when he nipped at her lip, when her hand moved to tangle in his hair and pull. She didn’t even entirely mind the beard, and she usually _hated_ kissing guys with beards. They’d always been itchy before.

When he finally pulled away – he’d been kissing her longer than he probably should have been, but to her lust-drunk mind it was nowhere near long enough – they were both panting. He stared at her with dark, heavy eyes, his gaze moving from her kiss-bruised lips to her eyes and…she was smiling at him, slow and uncertain but _happy_ , when reality seemed to crash into him. His eyes snapped open, a horrified expression falling onto his face, and then he was pushing away from her and scrambling to the other side of the car. He sat there, pressed against the door like he would rip it open and throw himself out if he could, and stared at her. He looked like he was going to be physically sick, which…wasn’t really the reaction she’d been expecting, considering how he’d just been kissing her.

…he’d seemed to be enjoying himself. She’d certainly been enjoying herself. Hadn’t…hadn’t he liked kissing her?

“I…I…oh my God,” he finally gasped, shaking his head numbly. “That…I didn’t mean…I am so sorry, Marinette. I didn’t mean to…I can’t…we can’t…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, wait,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt to move closer to him. He pressed himself closer to the door, as if she was going to physically attack him in retribution for what he was probably assuming were unwanted advances, and she paused. “St…Stupid. Ok, I probably shouldn’t call you that anymore. I should probably use your real name if I’m going to kiss you like that.”

“…we can’t,” he said, and God, he sounded so… _raw_. Broken. She tilted her head to the side, confused, and she would have sworn the sound that escaped him was a whine. He closed his eyes, breathing slowly to steady himself. “ _I_ can’t.”

“Why? Because you were working for me all week?” she asked, frowning. “Stupid, that’s… _stupid_. You were just…filling in. And you’ve already made it pretty clear you probably won’t be filling in again, so –”

“It’s not that,” he said quickly. He swallowed before opening his eyes. He still looked so _broken_ , and that tore at her. “I don’t give a shit about that, Marinette.”

“Then…did you not…like it?” she asked, frowning. She bit her lower lip, and he made that whining noise again. Her eyes snapped up to him. He was staring at her mouth like he would kiss her again, given even half the chance. So why was he saying no? “I liked it. I really liked it. I thought you liked it, too.”

“I _loved_ it, Marinette,” he said thickly. He’d closed his eyes again. He reached up to rub at his face. “You have _no idea_ how long I’ve wanted to…but that’s the problem!”

She jumped at the sudden rise of his voice in the enclosed space. She leaned forward to rest her hand on his knee, and seemingly without thinking he dropped a hand from his face to cover her own. She smiled as his fingers wrapped around the back of her hand, squeezing and holding on.

“If I liked kissing you, and you liked kissing me, I really don’t see what the problem is,” she said. He was looking at her again with that…she didn’t want to call it a tortured look, but there was such heartache and pain in his eyes she had no idea what else to call it. She squeezed his knee, and he took a deep, shaky breath.

“Because you don’t know who I am, Marinette,” he said weakly, shaking his head. “You have no idea. And I thought it would be better that way, so I could just walk away at the end of the week, and I wasn’t supposed to kiss you, and I just fucked everything up, and –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she said, shaking her head. “What are you…is this because I keep calling you _Stupid?_ You never told me your name, and –”

“I don’t care if you call me _stupid_ , Marinette!” he groaned. “I _am_ stupid. A complete fucking idiot! That’s not what I –”

“Then help me understand!” she said, scooting a little closer and immediately stopping when he pushed himself closer to the door. “Stu… _please_. You haven’t fucked anything up. I mean, I feel like you’re on your way there, but not yet? Talk to me.”

“…don’t make me laugh,” he said, chuckling weakly. “Don’t be adorable. Don’t make me want to kiss you again.”

“But I want you to kiss me again,” she said, laughing. “Ok, maybe you’re right. Maybe we should’ve gotten to know each other a little better first before jumping into the kissing, but I don’t see how this is a problem. Clearly there’s an attraction, and –”

“Attraction was never the problem,” he sighed, confusing her even more, “and that’s not what I…God, I’m ruining everything. I never should have agreed to this. Things were better before…”

“Please start making sense,” she said. He lifted her hand, threading his fingers through her own and squeezing. He looked up at her, that tortured look still on his face. His hand was the one shaking now.

“Marinette,” he said, his voice thick and low and…almost _reverent_. She thought she could get used to hearing him say her name like that. Like she was something to be cherished. Like she was precious. “My name…I’m…it’s L–”

“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng?” the driver called, cutting Stupid off as he rolled the partition down. They both jumped, turning towards the driver. “We’re here.”

“Thank you, Claude,” Marinette sighed. She looked back at Stupid and smiled, squeezing his hand. “Come on. Let’s get inside. It’ll be warmer in there.”

“Marinette, please –” he started, but she leaned forward to press her lips against his in a quick kiss that had him making that whining little groan again. He jerked away from her, shaking his head. “ _Stop –”_

“Tell me inside,” she said. They could grab some drinks, and she could take him to her office, and they could lock everyone else outside while he told her what the hell was going on. And when he realized he was being…well, _stupid_ , they could maybe get back to the kissing. Or at least the talking. Even if he didn’t want to work for her again, she didn’t want this to be the last time she saw him. She wanted…she thought she might like to date him. At least one date, just to see if there really was something between them, and they could take it from there.

That didn’t sound so bad, right?

“Marinette, no,” he said, but she was already opening her door and stepping out onto the street. She leaned back in to grab her bag and held her hand out for him.

“Come on,” she said, wiggling her fingers. She hoped the smile on her face was reassuring. “Whatever it is…Stupid, I promise you. It can’t be _that_ bad. Let’s just go inside, ok?”

He didn’t say anything else as he followed her, but by the clench of his jaw she could tell he wanted to. There was a stormy, turbulent look in his eyes as he moved around the car to retrieve his makeup case. She waved at Claude as he drove off, and when she turned back to Stupid she took his hand in her own and squeezed. She tugged him after her, hurrying into the studio and out of the cold February night. Forget the champagne – she wanted something _warm._

The party was already in full swing, the models having come back with dates and friends to celebrate with her regular staff. She was even surprised to see a few of the buyers and reporters milling about. Her studio had always felt _cozy_ – between the usual team of five she kept employed full-time, the work stations, the bolts of multi-colored fabric lining the wall, the half-dressed mannequins, and racks of garment bags – but with so many people (at least twenty, maybe thirty) it felt downright small. _Cramped._ Her fingers squeezed around Stupid’s, and she turned to him on her tip-toes to reach the ear he’d bent towards her.

“Why don’t we go to my office?” she asked, and she would have sworn she heard him sigh in relief below the blaring chords of Jagged Stone playing through the radio (she was assuming it was the radio, at least, because surely she’d recognize if Jagged was actually there _in person_ , right, and wasn’t he supposed to be in Athens that night besides?). She giggled and brushed her lips against his cheek, and even the itchy scratch of his beard couldn’t stop her smile. “Come on, Stu –”

An ear-piercing _shriek_ cut her off. They leapt apart and looked up, both blinking in dazed confusion as all eyes in the room turned towards the small blonde not five feet from them, who was screaming and bouncing like an over-excited puppy. Stupid’s grip on her hand tightened so much she would have sworn her bones creaked. He tried to step away from her, but she held him steady. She glanced back to find his face had drained of all color.

“FINALLY!!!!!” Rose shrieked, pushing through the crowd to rush over to them. Most of the other guests, upon realizing it was _Rose_ (and thus realizing the excitement probably wasn’t actually all that exciting), had turned back to their previous conversations, but a few kept watching her warily – as warily as the tall model following after her was. Juleka, whose eyes were locked on Stupid’s paling face with increasing concern, kept trying to catch Rose’s attention, but Rose wasn’t hearing any of it. She crashed into Stupid with enough force to make him stumble back into the door, and the way his arms came up to catch her seemed more out of instinct than any desire to reciprocate her enthusiasm, “Oh my God! Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! _Finally!!!!_ ”

“Rose, hold on –” Juleka said, reaching for her arm, but Rose was still bouncing as she clung to Stupid. She glanced at Marinette before looking up at Stupid, and she squealed again.

“I _told_ Juleka you were being stupid! About frickin’ time you told her, Luka!” she cried, and just like that…for the second time in less than twenty, maybe thirty minutes, Marinette felt the world drop out from under her.

Luka.

_Luka?_

Rose had called him _Luka_. But…he couldn’t be. _He couldn’t be._ He would…would have told her! He wouldn’t have…they’d been working together _for an entire week!_ They’d talked, and laughed, and even when she’d thought she knew him he’d denied ever working her, and he’d kissed her like…like…

Rose was still rambling on, bouncing and squealing like Christmas had come ten months early (or had been extended two months late), but Stu…Luka? _Luka_ was watching her with those eyes that she’d kept thinking were _so familiar_ but hadn’t been able to place, and he’d _sworn_ they didn’t know each other, and…she didn’t even realize she was pushing Rose aside, moving her so she could turn Stu… _Luka_ towards her and…his jaw was clenched shut, so tight she knew his teeth had to ache with it, but he just kept watching her with those eyes that broke her heart as she lifted her hands to his face. As she covered the beard and narrowed her eyes, studying the familiar arch of his cheekbones and shape of his eyes and line of his nose and if she just pushed his bangs over _just so…_

…oh, God.

His eyebrows furrowed into that look of aching concern she used to be so familiar with, that looked older but still the same despite the hair being different (and too much, God why had he grown a stupid _beard?_ ) and older and…she was having trouble breathing. Her mouth was suddenly so dry. She tried to swallow and felt her throat stick. He reached up, his fingers resting lightly yet firmly on her wrist, and the touch was so familiar she…

“L…L…” she tried, but her mouth wasn’t working. His fingers curled around her wrist, and she felt his mouth curl into a frown beneath her hand, and he…he…he _nodded_ , or at least dipped his head towards her, and that was just as good as a nod. An admission. He looked absolutely defeated, _broken_ , and something painful inside her twisted as she realized _she had done that_. “Luk–”

“Marinette! Finally!” Jocelyn cried, shoving her way through the crowd to loop her arm through hers. Without even looking to see what she was interrupting, Jocelyn started tugging her back into the fray, and Marinette’s eyes widened as she was pulled away from Luka. _Luka!_ She reached back for him, her eyes widening as Jocelyn continued to pull her away like some damn rip current she couldn’t break free of. He just stood there, his mouth pressed together in a resigned line as he watched her go.

…he’d kissed her like it was his only chance. Because he’d known this moment was coming. Because, somehow, in his mind, he thought she’d find out and…what? Never want to see him again?

_“…so I could just walk away at the end of the week…”_

…he had honestly thought she’d never want to see him again. If she knew.

God, Rose was right – he was so fucking _stupid!_

“Joce, _wait_ –!” Marinette tried to say, tried to yank her arm away, but Jocelyn was determined.

“We _can’t_ wait, Marinette – they want fifty dresses by April! And that boutique two blocks over? They want to set up a permanent contract – I know you said to celebrate tonight and keep the business for tomorrow, but we’re a new house and we can’t afford to sit on this, Marinette! No matter who our backer is, this is good money we can’t afford to turn down!” Jocelyn said, and Marinette shook her head and twisted, trying to see the door, but it had disappeared in the crush of bodies and conversation and music and…

“It has to, Joce! I have to talk to Luka!” Marinette said, her voice a little desperate, but Jocelyn didn’t understand. She _couldn’t_ understand. She didn’t know…they’d never talked…

“The makeup guy? I have his contact information – call him tomorrow, Marinette!” Jocelyn huffed.

…Jocelyn knew? Of course Jocelyn knew. Jocelyn was the one who’d been e-mailing him their schedule all week. Why hadn’t she asked Jocelyn for his name before now? Why had she just listened to Juleka, and called him _Stupid_ , and…God, _Juleka had known_. Juleka had known the entire fucking time, and she hadn’t said anything, and –

But they were already in front of an older gentleman in a fitted gray suit, who was beaming at her as he congratulated her on her success. She was dimly aware of him asking about getting some dresses – _fifty?_ – for his store, and his granddaughter’s wedding was coming up, and does she do wedding commissions? His Penelope would _adore_ her designs for her bridal party. She knew he was asking her about work, and she trusted her answers to be automatic and tactful because _this was her job and she was a professional_ , but she wasn’t aware of any of it over the roaring in her ears. She kept glancing back at the door, and when he finally let her go and she tried to push back through the crowd, Jocelyn was grabbing her again and steering her to the next interested client, and the next thing Marinette knew…she was lost.

She was passed around from potential client to coworker to model to whoever else was there, wishing her well and congratulating her on a successful launch, and _I can’t wait to see what you do for October, Marinette_ , and she felt like she was drowning. She didn’t know how long had passed by the time she finally resurfaced, pushing her way to the outskirts of the crowd to stumble towards the table that had been set out with refreshments. She grabbed a cup of punch and knocked it back, then reached for another. She sipped that one much slower, already feeling the burn from whatever the first one had been spiked with, and turned back towards the party. She had to find…

“You don’t look good,” a quiet voice said by her side. Her head spun with how quickly she turned towards Juleka. Rose was standing a short distance behind her, looking as horrible as Marinette felt, wringing her hands nervously as Juleka approached. She reached a hand out to lay on Marinette’s shoulder, but it was the wrong hand. It was too slender, and the manicured nails were still immaculate, and…

“Where is he?” Marinette demanded, glancing back towards the party before turning back to Juleka. “Where’d he go, Juleka?”

Her lips, painted a deep burgundy that made them stand out on her pale face, pursed together. Juleka took a slow breath before she shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” she said, and Marinette felt her stomach drop solidly around her ankles. “He left.”

Of course…of course he had. She deserved no less. He had been there the entire week, and she hadn’t even realized. Or…no. No, she hadn’t. She had just thought he was _familiar_ , and she had taken his word for it when he’d denied it, and she _hadn’t known._ He’d been _right in front of her_ and _she hadn’t known._ She was so stupid, and selfish, and distracted, and now…Luka was gone. Luka was gone, when he had only just come back, and…

She didn’t realize the first choked sob had escaped her – that her half-full cup of punch had dropped to splash its sticky contents at their feet – until Juleka sighed and pulled her close, tucking her against her larger frame in what was supposed to be a comforting hug. But she was the wrong Couffaine, and she was all bony angles, and Marinette didn’t want _her_. She wanted…she had…

“Come on,” she heard Rose say, or at least thought she did, and she was pretty sure it was Rose’s gentle hand at her back guiding her towards the office. “Not here, Marinette. Don’t let them see you like this _here_.”

She let them lead her away, too numb to do anything else.

What the hell had she done?


	5. You Could be Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...so. That Happened.
> 
> In which Saturday happens and Luka and Marinette deal with the fallout of Friday night. Or try to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this chapter ran away from me. By a LOT. So much that I ended up having to split it into two. There’s a LOT that happens just on Saturday, and it feels more manageable this way. Also, er. “Concentrated doses of pain.” “Angst with a Happy Ending.” Please remember this ultimately a giftfic for Quick and I would never do her that dirty (except, y’know, the one time I did xD).
> 
> Reminder that the song is Trading Yesterday’s “She Is The Sunlight”. Also a shoutout to Mal, who supplied the name for Luka’s new guitar. More information on Devereaux (including why he’s such a pretentious little snob that Luka hates so much) coming later. :D
> 
> **And just a bit of housekeeping and then I promise I’ll shut up…the next update WILL be on Wednesday, however it’s probably going to be later in the day than usual. (It’s my birthday, and I’m going to be a little busy, but I will have it posted at some point that night. I also can’t post it early because unit classes start Tuesday, so my life is going to Suck for a few months. :D )**

Luka Couffaine had fucked up. He had _really_ fucked up. He had fucked up so badly he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to fuck anything else up ever again.

He knew the exact moment he’d fucked up, too. It was the exact moment he’d felt Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s lips against his. After he’d…y’know. Kinda sorta jumped her in the backseat of her car.

Or…no. That wasn’t the moment he’d fucked up. He’d fucked up when he had agreed to go to the…what? After-party at her studio? No. Before then. When he hadn’t finished the last model and immediately packed up, like he’d done after every other show that week. When he’d _lingered_ , because it was Marinette’s big moment and he was so proud of her and had wanted to be there for her. He’d wanted to get _one thing_ right in their history. Or maybe it was the ducking out he’d been doing during the rest of the week, running away from her every time she had tried to catch up with him like the fucking coward he’d become.

Or…no. No, no, no. It wasn’t any of that, was it? Maybe it was actually a week before that, when Juleka had first sent him a text claiming _Marinette needs you. Can you help?_ And, like the _dumbass_ he was, he hadn’t hesitated. He’d told her _yes_ before he’d even properly processed the message. He’d just seen ‘Marinette needs you’ and had started looking for his shoes.

He’d been lacing up the second one when the text telling him to be there at _seven AM_ had come through. He’d maybe slept three hours the entire night. That was a fuck-up, too, showing up for the first time in eight years dead on his feet…

Actually…now that he was properly thinking about it, he’d fucked up a _lot_ lately. You could probably even say he was making a career of it.

He’d been fucking up for years now, after all.

If he was really honest with himself, he knew the exact moment he’d fucked up with Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and it hadn’t happened in the last twenty-four hours. It hadn’t even happened in the last seven days.

It had happened seven years ago.

_They were in Amsterdam when it happened. He was on stage – nowhere near his phone, which had been left on the bus after a tech had tried to steal it from the green room in Belgium – in the middle of a sick riff-off with his…with Jagged. They were smirking at each other, fingers flying over their respective guitars as they tried to out-play the other, when they felt the sudden shift in the audience._

_A shout rose up above the crowd._

_Then another._

_Phones started lighting up, but they weren’t raised above heads with the lighter app blazing. Penny ran out on stage, shouting for them to_ stop – wait – you have to see this! _And then the screen behind them, which had been displaying a close-up of Jagged and him not a second ago – switched to a…not a local newscast. No, that was Nadja Chamack – he would know her anywhere after having grown up watching her reports – and that was definitely Paris behind her. That was definitely…_

_“Holy shit…” Jagged breathed, his voice carrying over the rumbling crowd thanks to his microphone, “…ain’t that the Agreste’s place?”_

_It was. Luka knew it was: he had been there, or at least past there, enough times. And it was engulfed in flames._

_Nadja stood on the other side of the street, clearly reporting on the incident._

_And Ladybug was standing beside her._

_“We are outside the Agreste Manor, which you can see has been…completely destroyed,” Nadja said, her expression grim. “Crews are working hard to extinguish the blaze, but the outlook is bleak. Sources at the scene claim that not only was the entire Agreste family – fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste, his supermodel son Adrien, along with his assistant and chauffer – was still inside when…we have with us Paris’s savior, Ladybug herself. Ladybug, can you tell us what happened here tonight?”_

_The camera zoomed in on Ladybug’s face, and Luka felt his stomach drop to his feet. His guitar would have fallen to the stage in a terrible_ clang _if not for the strap keeping it around his shoulders. She looked…_ awful _. She was so pale, and her face was…there was definitely bruising beneath the mask, and a cut above her eye was still bleeding. One of her pigtails had come loose. She looked thinner than he remembered, too._

_When was the last time he had spoken to her? A month back? Maybe two? Time had gotten so crazy, between the tour and the studio time and her exams and internships and…she had sounded ok back then, though. A little tired, but ok. She didn’t look ok, though. She looked far from it._

_Those blue eyes that used to burn with so much passion and life…they looked dead to him. The drawn lines of her face…it looked like she had looked like that for a while._

_“Gabriel Agreste is dead,” she said. Her voice was strong and steady, yet there was a hollowness to it he had never heard before. Even when the old Turtle had passed on guardianship of the Miraculous stones – when the rest of her team had been outed and she’d been left utterly alone – she hadn’t sounded so…defeated. “He was…he was Hawkmoth. He’s gone. His assistant…Nathalie…she was Mayura. They’re both…”_

_Ladybug looked back at the burning wreckage and whispered, “Paris is finally safe.”_

_“And where is Chat Noir, Ladybug? Someone said you were seen carrying someone out of the fire?” Nadja pressed, and Ladybug broke. A choked, strangled sob escaped her, and she reached up to try and hold it in. Her entire body shook and folded in on itself, trying to get away from the fire, from Nadja, from…_

_“…he’s gone,” Ladybug gasped, and the cameraman didn’t pan away fast enough. There was a jarring, feedback-laden sound ringing through the stadium as Nadja dropped her microphone. The little mic she kept clipped on her blazer still picked up Ladybug’s words clear as day, though: “Chat Noir is gone.”_

_And then broken, shattered sobs were escaping the hero, and Nadja did the only thing a mother like her could in that moment: she pulled her in for a hug, unthinking of the button mic that now picked up Ladybug’s mournful cries and played them for all the world to hear._

_Luka was dimly aware of the pain in his knees as his legs gave out from under him. He was five, six hours away with no Miraculous to cross the distance. All he could do was watch as the love of his life fell apart for the world to see, his ears ringing with her pain…_

_A haunting, mournful guitar broke through Ladybug’s…_ Marinette’s _sobs. Jagged, playing a stripped-down version of “Mirockulous” to honor the fallen hero. To celebrate the hard-won victory. But Luka was numb. He couldn’t pick up his own guitar. He couldn’t remember the chords even if he tried. Later, when the venue had been cleared out and they were all retired to their bunks for the evening, he tried calling her. She didn’t answer – he supposed he hadn’t really expected her to – and he didn’t leave a message._

_He didn’t try again._

Luka had fucked up any chance he would ever have with Marinette Dupain-Cheng the day Hawkmoth fell. The day he’d learned her world had fallen apart and had done _nothing_ to stop it. Nothing to help. He’d just…disappeared.

They’d been growing distant ever since he’d gone on that first tour. They had both been so busy back then, and she’d had Hawkmoth to deal with on top of it all…he hadn’t been there for her like he’d needed to be. Like she’d needed him to be. Of course she hadn’t answered her phone when he finally did call, too many months too late.

He hadn’t deserved to be a part of her life after that, and so he’d made sure he wasn’t. He’d let her move on. He’d…he’d let her go, as best he knew how.

…he never should have gotten on that damn bus. _That_ was the moment, he realized as he glared blearily at his living room ceiling. He lifted his beer to take another swig, sucking in a deep breath when he realized it was empty. When he was eighteen, and he’d been standing outside that stupid obnoxious purple bus and she’d been clinging to him like he was everything she’d wanted and told him she didn’t want him to go…and he’d just left. Like a fucking coward.

How could they have called it chasing his dream when it had meant letting his other dream die?

That was the moment, he thought as he tossed the empty bottle towards the others in the trash. That was the moment he’d lost her.

– V –

He didn’t sleep well that night.

He wasn’t sure if he slept at all.

When his eyes finally opened Saturday morning, he felt like he’d just closed them. He knew it had to be early – he’d been waking up early all week – by the sun just creeping through his balcony doors. He hadn’t closed the curtains the night before. Usually it didn’t matter, but he hadn’t exactly made it to his bed last night.

God, he was so _tired_. He still pushed himself up, groaning as he slumped forward and scrubbed at his face. His head was throbbing. He didn’t think he could sleep anymore. He couldn’t _pretend_ to sleep anymore, at least. Every time he closed his eyes…

He needed coffee. He needed a shower. He needed…

He picked his phone up off the coffee table to check the time, but it was dead. He sighed and stood, rubbing an arm over his eyes as he moved towards his room. Coffee. Shower. Maybe not necessarily in that order.

And then he was going to finish that damn song, like he was supposed to a week ago. Before Juleka had texted him. Before he became _Stupid_ for a week.

…before he’d known what Marinette’s mouth tasted like.

He stopped in his doorway, staring blearily at the sleek, black acoustic sitting in its stand by his bed. The white-pink cherry blossoms he’d stenciled in along the body winked at him in the cold morning light, almost mockingly. He needed to play. He needed to write.

The music was back in his head, stronger than ever.

More than anything…he just needed to get it _out._

– V –

When she finally got to sleep, Marinette actually slept _great_ Friday night (or Saturday morning, whenever it actually was).

It was a deep sleep. A dreamless sleep. Or, at the least, a sleep so heavy that, if more dreams of Luka Couffaine _had_ plagued her (which, given her recent track record, they probably had), she didn’t remember them come morning light.

It was just the _getting to sleep_ that was actually the problem.

Marinette was pretty sure she’d gone through all five stages of grief in that one night, and it had left her _exhausted_.

First had been Denial.

She had been numb as Juleka and Rose had ushered her into her office. She had been aware of the party continuing around them, of the press and chatter of _too many people in too small a space_ , of Rose’s constant reassurances near her ear. The door had closed behind them, and she had just…stood there. There was something about that sound – the _thud_ of the closing door – that had felt so _final_. And something inside her had railed against it.

_No_ , her mind had screamed.

Stupid wasn’t Luka. Stupid _couldn’t be_ Luka. They looked _nothing_ alike, and _Luka would have told her it was him_ , and this was all just some horrible dream – like all the other dreams she’d been having that week. She’d been so exhausted every single day – she’d probably just fallen asleep backstage somewhere again. And even if it _was_ real, even if Stupid _was_ Luka, there was no way he would have just _left_ like that! Luka wasn’t a coward – he didn’t just _leave!_

There had been a snort from Juleka, and that was when Marinette realized she’d been saying all of this out loud.

“You haven’t exactly talked to him before this week,” Juleka had muttered. She’d been looking out the window by Marinette’s desk, towards the busy street beyond. “Not for years. Luka’s the biggest coward I know.”

She hadn’t said that in her usual _he’s my brother and he’s a dumbass_ way. She said it like she honestly believed it, like it was just a simple fact of her life, and that had triggered the next step for Marinette: _Anger_.

Because if Stupid _was_ Luka, how dare he? How dare he just show up like that, knowing full well he looked just different enough that she might not recognize him, and not tell her who he was? How dare he grow a stupid beard? How dare he be so great, and kind, and helpful, and sweet, and not tell her who he was or why he was helping? How dare he give her coffee and granola bars and try to take care of her without letting her know? _How dare he kiss her – and kiss her like_ that _– and not say anything?!_

“Wait – he what?!” Rose had shrieked, but Marinette hadn’t stopped pacing. That wasn’t fair, she had supposed. Luka _had_ said something – he had tried to stop her, had said he couldn’t kiss her again (and what the hell, he’d said _again_ , like he fully intended to _kiss her again_ , and then he’d just _left?!_ ) until she knew…but that had only been after he’d so thoroughly kissed her in the first place! And he _still_ hadn’t told her who he was, not until Rose had done it for him!

And what the hell had been up with that?! How dare he kiss her in the first place when he’d never had any intention of telling her who he was? He’d said so himself: he had been planning on walking back out of her life without ever telling her about his identity. He was going to just _leave_ , just like he always had, and –

“That’s not entirely fair, Marinette,” Juleka had softly reminded her, and the proverbial wind had left Marinette’s sails.

Because Juleka was right. Of course she was right. Luka might have been the one to actually _leave_ the last – first – time, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t been the one shoving him onto that damn bus. She had told him to go. What had come after…that had been on both of them, in the end. They had _both_ gotten busy. They had _both_ lost touch.

The anger had fizzled, like a fire shocked by a bucket of ice cold water. Her pacing had stopped, and she had stood in the center of her office staring at a half-dressed mannequin sitting by her desk. She’d started wringing her fingers anxiously.

“No…no, you’re right,” she’d agreed. It was all just such a _mess_. A big misunderstanding. If he had just stayed…if they’d only made it to her office, where they could have talked…if she hadn’t tried to keep kissing him, and if Rose hadn’t seen them and assumed…if she’d let him talk in the damn car like he’d wanted to, instead of insisting they go inside first…if he’d just _talked to her_ instead of running away…

“I don’t think it would have made a difference, sweetie,” Rose had said softly, her arms wrapping around Marinette’s shoulders. And just like that the Bargaining had stopped and had given way to Depression.

Because Rose was right. Luka wouldn’t have stayed because, ultimately, Luka didn’t _want_ to stay. He never had. He had made that perfectly clear from the beginning: he would help for the week, and then he’d be gone. Her throat had seized up with another choking sob, and Rose had held her close as she’d cried. She’d been dimly aware of Rose guiding her to the lounger in the corner and sitting them down on it – about as aware as she was of Juleka sitting down on her other side and laying a hand against her back. She’d cried until she felt she couldn’t cry anymore, until the anger and pain had fizzled back into numbness and then…Acceptance.

She had no right to be upset about this, anyway. It had been…what? Eight years? They were both adults now. Successful adults who had their own lives and dreams and careers and…he didn’t owe her anything. They had only ever been _friends_ , and they had been _kids_ , and they had drifted apart with time and age like a lot of friends who were kids do. Helping her out had been a kind thing to do, but he was perfectly within his rights to _not_ tell her who he was. To just walk away after Fashion Week was over like any other _professional_ would have.

He had been perfectly within his rights to treat her like a stranger because, in the end, that’s what they were now. And they had _both_ done that.

Luka hadn’t been a part of her life beyond a nostalgic _what if_ before Fashion Week, and he would go back to being a nostalgic _what if_ now that it was done.

That’s just how these things went.

Right?

Rose and Juleka hadn’t wanted to leave her alone that night. They’d been worried about her, and they both felt guilty for putting her in this situation in the first place. She had tried telling them that was ridiculous – _Luka_ had done this, not them, but Juleka blamed herself for asking him in the first place and Rose blamed herself for outing him. They’d asked her to stay at their place that night, so she wouldn’t be alone. But with the Acceptance had come the weariness, and she was tired of talking and thinking about…she was tired of being around _people_ , even friends, and so she had just smiled at them and told them she’d be fine. She was still too worked up to properly sleep, so she was just…going to stay. Work on some projects Fashion Week had pushed aside, because she really didn’t feel like being around a lot of people (and there were still a lot of people outside her office).

She hadn’t wanted to go home though, either. Not where she would have no one but a Miracle Box full of kwamis to…just thinking about telling Sass what had happened this week was exhausting. (And even thinking about the little shit hit her with another wave of exhaustion: no wonder he’d been looking at her so strangely all week. He had known, too – he must have smelled Luka on her – and he hadn’t said a damn thing.) So. No. No, she wouldn’t go home, either. She would stay, and she would work, and it had only taken maybe ten minutes to convince Juleka and Rose (mostly Rose) that she was honestly fine and they could go home without her. They had finally left maybe half an hour after she had cried herself out, and then she’d been alone.

And she _had_ meant to work on…something. Anything. But then she had sat back down on her lounger, sketchbook in her lap, and had spotted the tiny makeup kit she’d left on the corner of her desk Thursday morning. And then she had thought of Stupid. Of… _Luka_.

She was so tired of thinking about Luka.

She’d sketched until she’d fallen asleep, and come morning she wasn’t sure if it was the early winter light glaring through the window or the smell of coffee in the main room that woke her up. When she emerged from her office, bleary-eyed and with charcoal smudged on her cheek, Jocelyn handed her a steaming mug of coffee and a change of clothes with a smile. Marinette was still waking up, but she could still see a certain sense of wariness about that smile.

“You were sleeping in there when I left last night,” Jocelyn said, nodding towards her office. She hesitated a moment, as if she was unsure how much she should say. That moment set Marinette on edge. “And…Juleka warned me, before she left. That…something had happened.”

“It was nothing,” Marinette said quickly, but Jocelyn didn’t seem offended by her…abruptness. Marinette still winced, shaking her head to clear it. It wasn’t Jocelyn’s fault Luka had lied to her. Jocelyn didn’t even know Luka beyond…it’s not like they had ever talked about him. Even if Jocelyn had known his name and who he was, she didn’t know _Who He Was_. As far as she knew, he was just Juleka’s brother. Jocelyn was smart enough to realize that probably meant he was Luke Stone, too, but that would mean nothing to her beyond another famous face. It wasn’t fair to lash out at her for something she hadn’t even done. “Sorry. I’m…yes, I was upset last night, but I’m…”

…what was she, other than tired? She pursed her lips, staring at the coffee in her mug. She was surprised to find she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even sad, not really. Part of her still felt like a livewire, but that felt more like residual adrenaline from how busy they’d been all week.

“…I’m fine,” she finally said, because it felt true enough. There was just enough of a dull, lingering ache to keep her from saying she was _great_ or even _good_ , but she didn’t feel like she was about to break down in tears, either. So she was…fine. Ok. Fine.

Jocelyn had known her for ages now, though, and the look she gave her let Marinette know she didn’t really believe her. But Jocelyn was also nothing if not a professional (and a truly kind person), so she didn’t press the not-quite-lie. She untucked her tablet from where she’d been holding it between her arm and side, unlocking it to check the day’s schedule, and Marinette felt herself relax a little. Business as usual, then.

“M. Royce e-mailed some samples for his granddaughter’s wedding,” Jocelyn said, and it took Marinette a moment to remember the kind old man who wanted fifty dresses for his boutique and additional dresses for a wedding. “Theme, color palette, flowers…if you’re interested. He said he wanted to get you early, before other clients had a chance to steal you.”

Her professionalism slipped just a little, and Marinette almost laughed at the near-smirk Jocelyn sent her. If she was Alya or Rose, she’d probably wink at her. Jocelyn didn’t do things like _wink_ , though.

“Thanks, Joce,” Marinette said after she’d taken a long pull of the coffee, returning her smile. The previous night was still a bit of a hazy blur, but she didn’t doubt M. Royce was right in his estimates about her future prospects. Marinette honestly didn’t remember many of the faces Jocelyn had introduced her to last night (they had all been drowned out by the white noise of _Stupid is Luka Couffaine_ ), but she remembered how long it had taken her to get back to Juleka. There had been a _lot_ of people. She was definitely going to be busy. And that…that was _exciting_ , wasn’t it? Her business was going to do well. That was _good_. “Give me ten minutes to wake up and I’ll take a look.”

“Of course,” Jocelyn said before heading back to her desk. Three lights on her phone were already blinking, indicating waiting calls. Marinette drained half the mug before she started moving towards the bathroom, adjusting the change of clothes draped over her arm. The blinking lights were just a reminder that she didn’t have time to be…distracted.

Because, really, that’s all Stu… _Luka_ would prove to be. And she was in a good place now. She was happy. She was excited about her future, which was looking brighter every minute. She was coming off of a very successful Fashion Week with all the contacts and orders that came with it, and there was an even bigger one looming in the not-so-distant future. Her phone was literally blowing up with interested buyers. She couldn’t afford to waste any more time being upset over someone who clearly wasn’t going to be upset over her.

That’s what she told herself, at least.

The only problem was she couldn’t get his eyes out of her mind. That look on his face, after he’d kissed her and then again when Rose had said his name. Like…like he _was_ upset. Like he’d been having the best dream and had woken up to realize none of it was real. That it was all over. Like for one shining moment he had had everything he’d ever wanted, just to realize it was all lost to him forever.

She told herself she was being stupid. There was a part of her that would always love Luka Couffaine – she had accepted that years ago. It was the same part that had first heard “Sunlight” on the radio four years ago and had started crying in the middle of a busy café, just _knowing_ in her bones that the song was about her. The larger part of her – the rational, level-headed _adult_ – chided that smaller part for being a hopeless romantic. Because the truth of it was…

The truth of it was that Luka Couffaine had never loved Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Not really.

He wouldn’t have been able to leave her so easily if he had.

That’s what she told herself, at least.

That’s what she had to believe.

It was the only way to keep moving forward.

– V –

Luka. Was. _Drunk._

Well.

No, that wasn’t _entirely_ true. He _had been_ drunk was more accurate. He wasn’t so much drunk anymore as he was hungover. Maybe with a slight, lingering tipsiness. The shower had only sort of helped with that, the cold jarring him into some mangled sense of coherence. The coffee was helping more to rejuvenate him. The ibuprofen had barely touched the pounding in his head, though, which wasn’t really helping the creative process. It was hard to get the music in his head out when his fingers kept tripping over the strings with every resounding _thump_.

…it took him longer than it should have to realize the pounding was coming from his door and not his head.

“All right – I’m coming!” he snapped, hauling himself off the couch. Devereaux – stupid, snobby _Devereaux,_ who was an excellent guitar and knew it (but was nowhere near as kind or gentle as George had been, rest in pieces) – was propped unceremoniously against the couch. When he opened the front door to scowl miserably at whatever poor bastard had decided to interrupt his pity party, the poor bastard in question turned out to be his favorite bastard.

“Lulu!” Dingo cheered, a shit-eating grin splitting his face. He propped his aqua sunglasses – the stupid blue ones with what was supposed to be the Loch Ness monster on the legs that he had bought specifically to piss him off – up on his head and sniffed at the air, his eyes sliding past Luka to land on the mug of coffee on the table. “Oooh, do I smell coffee? Hope you got the good stuff ready. God knows I need it.”

“What the fuck do you want, Ding?” Luka sighed, stepping aside as Dingo made his way in. Luka glared at the bag slung over Dingo’s shoulder. It looked full – like _Hey, mate, let’s run off to Brussels for the weekend!_ full, which Luka was in no mood for at the moment. Maybe he should’ve dropped some whiskey in that coffee…

“KK brought home chicken pox!” Dingo said. He sounded entirely too cheerful for someone whose son had chicken pox. Luka wondered where he had even caught it, because the kid was three and his primary circle consisted of his parents and his babysitter. Dingo turned to Luka, that manic grin still on his face. “You know who’s never had chicken pox, mate?”

“You,” Luka answered dryly, and Dingo clicked his tongue and leveled a finger gun his way.

“Me,” he said. “So Bri kicked me out for…well, until she calls. I need your couch for a few nights. We both texted you about it.”

“My phone’s dead,” Luka sighed, reaching up to scrub at his face. “Rough night. Forgot to plug it in.”

“Yeah, you were doing that makeup gig this week, right?” Dingo asked. He dropped his bag by the armchair and picked up Luka’s mug, sniffing it before he downed the rest of it. He pulled a face when he was done. “Christ, what are you drinking, mate? Tar? This stuff’s shit.”

“Rough night,” Luka muttered again. He missed the way Dingo’s eyes narrowed as they followed him into the kitchen. He’d only been on his second cup of coffee, and the pot was still half-full. He grabbed one of his larger mugs and dumped the rest (or as much as he could) into it before he set about brewing a more tolerable batch. Dingo would probably drown it in cream, anyway.

“Tell me about it,” the dumbass in question quipped. Luka glanced up to find him leaning on the door jam, the empty mug dangling from his fingers. His sunglasses were still propped up on his head, leaving Luka subject to a stare that was more scrutinizing than he was currently comfortable with. He loved Dingo to death, but there were times he was just a little too perceptive. “Kurt was screaming all night, and Bri wouldn’t let me help at all. Not much I could’ve done, but still.”

Luka hummed, filling the reservoir and starting the coffeemaker. He leaned back against the counter, reaching for his own mug and taking a gulp. Or two.

“No, really, Lu,” Dingo said, moving over to him and tapping his mug on the counter. He folded his arms over his chest and…Dingo wasn’t glaring at him, but there was still something _knowing_ and _uncomfortable_ about the way he was looking at him. Luka looked back at his coffee, unable to hold that stare. “Tell me about it. What happened? You look like _shit_.”

“Got drunk,” Luka said after a moment. Dingo didn’t look convinced. Neither said anything as Dingo waited for him to continue, to explain what was really going on. Luka took another long drink of his coffee instead. He tipped his head back and glared at the ceiling. “…after I kissed Marinette.”

If he had bothered looking at his best friend instead of the suspicious spot on his ceiling (why was it red and how did it get up there?), he would have noticed how Dingo looked like he had punched him. Repeatedly. In the face.

They hadn’t talked about Marinette in…a really long time, after all. She was one of those _Off-Limit Topics_. Like Dingo’s real name and what actually happened in Seville in 2023 (though that one was more because neither could actually remember beyond what the police report claimed).

“…shit,” Dingo finally breathed, and Luka sighed as he pushed away from the counter and moved back out to the living room. It didn’t take Dingo long to follow him. “Hold up – hold the fuck up! You can’t just drop something like that and run! Luka, what the shit?!”

“If I was running, Ding, I’d be out the door,” Luka grumbled as he dropped back onto the couch.

“ _Marinette_ Marinette? When? How? What?” Dingo spluttered. He dropped onto the arm of the couch, swinging his legs around to land his boots on the cushion and prop his elbows on his knees. Luka shot his boots a look, but they looked clean enough for once so he let the matter drop. Dingo was pulling at his hair. “What the _fuck_ happened, Couffaine? You didn’t even tell me she was back!”

“Because she’s not back,” Luka said. He grabbed Devereaux’s neck and dropped him on his lap before sinking back into the couch. He strummed a few chords, frowning when they didn’t come out right.

…it made sense, he couldn’t help but think. He was actively avoiding the song in his head for the one he wanted to write, anyway. The one he had been working on before everything went to hell. He had to finish that one first.

“How are you kissing her if she’s not back?” Dingo frowned.

“We’re not _kissing_ ,” Luka said, and the chord he played came out…discordant. Rough. “We _kissed_. Once. Singular occurrence. Unlikely to ever happen again. Hence the drinking.”

“Hence you still not explaining shit,” Dingo accused, kicking at him but hitting Devereaux instead. Luka would have cared if he still didn’t think Devereaux needed knocked down a peg or two. Dingo gave him a pointed look, and Luka’s hands stilled. “Last I knew you were in the middle of Songwriting Lockdown, going nuts over your next hit.” Luka snorted at that. He’d been making progress, yes, but the song hadn’t really felt like a _hit_. Not like… “Then you said you were helping Juleka out with a makeup thing, and…oh. _Oh._ ”

“Juleka was modeling for Marinette,” Luka said. “Marinette’s makeup guy got hurt and couldn’t…so I said I would.”

“Because Marinette,” Dingo sighed.

“Because Marinette,” Luka agreed. Dingo gave him a suspicious look.

“…just the once?” he asked, and Luka nodded. “How’d you pull that off? I would’ve thought she’d jump you the second she saw you. It was the beard, wasn’t it? She hates the beard as much as the rest of us do.”

“She hates _me_ , Ding,” Luka said. His fingers flexed, but he didn’t start playing. Dingo was looking at him like he didn’t believe that in the slightest, but he was kind enough to not say so. “And she has every right to. She…she didn’t recognize me. And I just went with it, because I’m a fucking _idiot_ , except it’s _Marinette_ and I…”

“It blew up in your face,” Dingo said. Luka dropped his head back on the couch and looked at him with a miserable little grin. “Because it’s _Marinette_ , and you’ve always been a fucking idiot when it comes to her.”

“She was crying,” Luka said. He closed his eyes, recalling the look on her face as “Sunlight” played on the radio. As she told him about the boy she thought she could have loved, if only…if only he hadn’t so thoroughly blown it, back then and now. If only he’d ever been even half the man she’d needed. If… “And we started talking. And…I never should have kissed her. And before I could tell her why I couldn’t kiss her anymore, Rose called me out and…”

The look on her face had broken him. When she’d reached up to cover his beard, and actually _saw_ him…she’d looked absolutely horrified. Disgusted. And why wouldn’t she be? He’d lied to her the entire week. He’d cut himself out of her life before that. He’d had the audacity to write a song that made her feel like _she_ was in the wrong, when _he_ was the one who had ruined everything. Of course she’d hate him. He hated himself most days.

“Any chance you actually talked to her before getting drunk and wallowing in self-pity?” Dingo asked. Luka didn’t answer, and that was all the answer Dingo needed. “…and you call _me_ the dumbass.”

“It’s usually applicable,” Luka muttered. Dingo kicked at him again, and this time he didn’t miss. “Ding!”

“Lu!” Dingo mimicked, sneering at him. “Dear God, mate, how fucking stupid are you?”

Luka pushed himself up and put his guitar back on the floor. He reached for his coffee instead of answering, because the answer was pretty obvious: very fucking stupid, apparently. Dingo kicked at him again, and Luka nearly dropped his mug.

“Dingo!” he snapped, but Dingo didn’t look repentant (though he rarely did). He folded his arms over his chest and glared at him.

“Don’t even start with me,” he said. “Don’t you even dare, Couffaine. You are going to get your ass up off this couch, stop the fucking pity party, and fucking _fix this_. You have been waiting ten years –”

“Eight,” Luka grumbled automatically, as if those two years really made all that much a difference. Dingo rolled his eyes like they didn’t.

“ _Ten years_ to fix this, and you’re gonna fucking fix it,” he said. “I’m sick of watching you wallow over this girl. What was it you told me when I wouldn’t propose to Bri? Either move the hell on or man up!”

“It’s not the same –” Luka tried, but Dingo snorted loud enough to cut him off.

“The shit it ain’t!” he snapped. “You still love her – how is it not? Shit or get off the pot, Lu!”

Luka choked on his coffee, his nose burning as some of it shot through it. His eyebrows soared as he gawked at his friend, but Dingo wasn’t budging.

“Ok. Right. First thing’s first,” Dingo said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them like he had a plan. “We’ve got to make you presentable – the beard’s gotta go. You can’t grovel when you look like that.”

…ok, he wasn’t the biggest fan of it either, but would people _stop_ giving him shit over the beard?

“I can’t shave the beard yet,” Luka said, sounding more like a toddler and less like the grown-ass man he was.

“Why the shit not? You look like Jagged,” Dingo said. “It’s hideous. Everyone hates it. _You_ hate it. Bet you that’s why Mari started crying, too. Realized you grew that thing and –”

Luka shoved him so hard he _almost_ managed to knock him off the couch, but Dingo managed to stay perched on the arm. He smirked at him, and Luka could only scowl in return. Dingo had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but Luka had to admit he probably hadn’t explained things all that well.

“That’s not it, dumbass,” he huffed. Marinette had never actually said whether or not she liked the beard. He was pretty sure there had been a general statement about disliking them, but that hadn’t been why…and it wasn’t why he couldn’t shave. He shoved a hand through his hair and took a breath. “I can’t shave until the song’s done. You know that.”

Dingo didn’t look convinced.

“That…that’s bullshit, and you know it,” Dingo said. He gestured at his face. “I know you get weird about your songs and shaving, some stupid superstitious sailor bullshit, but this isn’t about the song. This is about making up with Marinette. Shave the damn beard.”

“It’s not _stupid superstitious sailor bullshit_ , you asshole,” Luka bit. His fingers tightened around the mug, almost blanching with how hard he was holding it. “I can’t…it’s the first decent song I’ve written since _Sunlight_. If I shave before I finish it I’ll ruin everything.”

“You are so full of…you will not!” Dingo groaned. “You are insanely talented, Lu. Your facial hair – or lack of – does not change that. You’ve been blocked because your Marinette song became a hit and you never talked to her about it. So maybe if you actually fucking talk to her –”

“Talking to her won’t fix anything!” Luka snapped, throwing his mug at the floor before he snapped his fingers against it. It shattered in a mess of ceramic shards and lukewarm coffee, staining the carpet. He clenched his hands into fists and took some deep breaths, but they didn’t help like they usually did. His hands were still shaking. “She…she doesn’t want to talk to me, Ding.”

“You don’t know that,” Dingo insisted, but Luka laughed bitterly as he slumped forward. “Bet you she does. Bet you she’s been waiting ten years for you to talk to her. Bet you what she’s really mad about is that you told the entire world how much you still love her instead of just telling her.”

Luka groaned at the reminder. He slumped forward, his hands shoving into his hair and tugging.

“She was never supposed to hear that song,” he muttered bitterly. “ _No one_ was ever supposed to hear that song. I had to write it, to…but no one was ever supposed to hear it. And now it’s _everywhere._ That’s why I can’t shave, Ding.”

“…because _Sunlight_ became your top-selling single?” Dingo asked, and Luka laughed bitterly.

“Because the last time I shaved in the middle of a song, Penny sent an intern over to grab a demo,” he said after a long moment, his quiet voice almost echoing in the sudden stillness that had filled the room. “She grabbed the wrong tape, Ding. The next thing I knew, the label had their hands on _Sunlight_ , and everyone loved it, and I had to record it, and it went _platinum._ ”

“Mari’s song,” Dingo said. Luka’s fist clenched so tight his nails bit into his skin.

“Mari’s song,” he said. “And she _knows_ it’s hers, Ding. How could she not? She knows.”

“It’s a good song,” Dingo said, as if that mattered any. Maybe to him it did, but it meant shit to Luka. “One of your best.”

“She hates it,” Luka said. He dropped his head, glaring at the floor instead of facing his friend. “It makes her sad. That’s why she was crying.”

“Well, it makes _you_ sad, too,” Dingo pointed out. “S’why you stopped touring, innit? Because you had to keep singing it and thinking about her and –”

“No one was ever supposed to hear that song, Dingo,” Luka said again, continuing as if he wasn’t even talking. As if he didn’t want to hear what he was saying. He didn’t. He knew why the music had stopped, damn it. “I wrote it to…but no one was ever supposed to hear it. _She_ was never supposed to hear it. And then I shaved, and that stupid intern grabbed the wrong tape, and now my mistake plays on every radio station that’s ever heard of _Luke Stone_. And some that haven’t.”

“And it will take this life of regret for my heart to learn to forget,” Dingo muttered dryly. Luka sunk back into the couch with a sigh, tipping his head back and scrubbing at his eyes.

“She lives in a daydream where I don’t belong,” he sang softly, his voice catching and almost breaking. He pressed his lips together and tried not to remember how hers had felt against them – something he’d been trying to forget since one kiss had become two and he’d realized he could spend the rest of his life happily kissing that woman. “She is the sunlight, and my sun is gone…”

For once, Dingo appeared to have nothing to say. He continued to wring his hands, twisting his wedding ring around his finger as he stared at his boots. If anyone had told Luka when they were younger that they’d be nearly thirty and _Dingo_ would be the one married, he never would have believed them. He never really saw himself married, either, but he certainly had never seen it in Dingo’s cards.

Life was funny that way. Sometimes.

“…so…” Dingo finally started, and Luka pushed out a breath as he closed his eyes. After another moment, Dingo looked back up at him. “So. What are you gonna do, Lu?”

“…I’m going to let her go, Ding,” he said. If his hands tightened on his knees, his fingers pressing so hard against his jeans they blanched, neither of them commented on it. “I’m going to be sad. And I’m going to hate myself. And I’m going to write a song that’s not about her, and I’m going to let her go.”

Dingo didn’t look like he liked that idea. He also didn’t look like he believed him in the slightest. But Dingo hadn’t seen Marinette all week, happy and thriving and living her dream, and he hadn’t seen her when Rose had shouted his name, betrayed and disgusted and hurt and…but Dingo was, at the end of the day, a good friend, and so Dingo just sighed and hopped up off the couch, stretching before he turned back towards the kitchen for the coffee that had to have stopped brewing by now.

“…ok,” he said, and that seemed to be the end of it.

And it was.

– V –

Saturday morning found Juleka _busy_.

Couffaines, as a general rule, were _not_ morning people. Juleka had gotten slightly better at that over the years, but on a general whole it still held true for her – especially on weekends. She could be up at the crack of dawn or earlier if work required it, but she still loved sleeping in on Saturdays and Sundays. Rose, on the other hand, as a chronic _Morning Person_ , didn’t always let that happen.

…neither had Angie.

It was, ultimately, the crying baby that had woken Juleka up a little past sunrise on Saturday morning. She grumbled, stirring, until she felt Rose’s hand on her back.

“I’m already up,” Rose said softly. “I’ve got her.”

Which wasn’t entirely fair, because Rose always got her in the mornings and still got up in the middle of the night to tend to their five-month-old a lot, but Juleka was just tired enough that she didn’t argue. It didn’t take long for the events of the previous night to resurface in her murky mind, though, and once she remembered how miserable both her brother and friend had looked…

_“Luka, what the hell? Get back here, you dumbass!” she snapped, reaching for his arm as he turned to go. He jerked away from her, and the look on his face was enough to give her pause. “Luka…don’t…don’t do this._ Please. _”_

_“I can’t, Jules,” he choked out, shaking his head. His eyes had flicked past her, over Rose’s head, and towards the crowd – towards where her assistant was still dragging Marinette away. “I’m so sorry. I can’t.”_

_He was gone before she could say anything else to make him stay. With a frustrated growl, she turned and kicked her booted foot against the wall –_ hard _._

_“Oh my God!” she cried, thumping her fist by her head as she leaned on the wall. “They’re both so fucking_ stupid!”

She pushed out a breath, shoving her face against her pillow. He had run away. Like he always seemed to do anymore. And by the time Marinette had been able to escape her ever-efficient assistant, it had been too late. He’d been gone.

And Marinette had completely fallen apart.

With a groan, Juleka reached over to the bedside table and pulled her phone off the charger. She had started and stopped so many messages to both of them last night, wanting to make sure they were ok. In the end, she had sent nothing to Marinette, figuring she’d check on her when she next saw her at work. Marinette had always done better with a little time to herself to process things, and Juleka had never been the type to crowd. Which is why she had only sent Luka a single text: _hey. stupid. are u ok?_

There was no reply. It didn’t even look like he had opened it.

“Anything?” Rose asked, and Juleka lifted her head to find her at the door, Angie in her arms and happily sucking away at a breast. Juleka shook her head as she sat up. Rose bit her lip and looked back at the baby. “He’s probably still asleep. You know he doesn’t usually get up before noon unless he has to.”

“…yeah,” Juleka sighed, shoving a hand through her hair. It was barely past eight, anyway. She wondered if Marinette was up yet. Probably. “I’m…I’m gonna get a shower.”

“Jules?” Rose asked. Juleka bent to press a kiss to her cheek, then bent lower to drop one to Angie’s head.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m gonna get a shower. I have to wrap up some work stuff with Marinette, so I’m gonna swing by the studio in a bit. I’ll keep you posted.”

“You better,” Rose said. Juleka smiled and nodded. Rose sighed and settled on the bed, smiling at Angie. Juleka couldn’t stop the snickers when she heard her tell their daughter, “Your uncle’s a great big dumb-dumb, yes he is! The biggest dumb-dumb there is!”

She wasn’t wrong.

A quick shower, a quicker breakfast, a brief distraction for baby snuggles, and a twenty-minute detour found Juleka outside Luka’s a little over an hour later with her arms full and a booted foot kicking on his door probably harder than the early Saturday hour warranted. If his neighbors had anything to say about it, they didn’t emerge to complain. Juleka was about to balance her latte on the pastry box and fish out her key when the door finally opened, except it wasn’t Luka who answered.

“Dingo?” she asked, her eyebrows lifting as he grinned at her. “What –”

“Oi, food!” Dingo said by way of greeting. He snatched the box from her arms – making sure he leaned in to kiss her cheek before taking it – and paused before popping open the lid and snatching a croissant. With his mouth full, he shot her another grin. “You have all the subtlety of a speeding lorry in the rain. I love it.”

Which was kind of the point, Juleka thought as she entered the flat, snatched the box of fresh pastries from T&S Boulangerie away from him, and started towards the kitchen. A quick glance over the counter found her stupid brother on his back on the sofa, his legs dangling over the end as he picked out a mindless tune on the guitar on his stomach.

“Good to see you’re not moping,” she called. He raised his head, frowning as his fingers stilled. “I’d hate to see you moping over something as stupid as, y’know, _your own stupidity_.” She waved the box at him. “I brought breakfast.”

His frown turned into a glare when he saw the yellow box.

“Get out,” he said, dropping his head back on the couch. He started noodling again, and she sighed. Dingo gave her a helpless look and shrugged. She waved him off, and he rolled his eyes.

“Right. I’m just gonna…hope you have better luck with him,” Dingo grumbled. He grabbed his coat off the back of the armchair, slapping Luka’s feet before he left. “ _Talk to her_ , dumbass.”

He wiggled his fingers in a wave, and a moment later Juleka heard the door slam behind him. Juleka pulled a mug and a small plate down from the cabinet, stalling for time as much as she was trying to think of where she could even start. She wondered how much Luka had actually told Dingo and if the _her_ Dingo had been referring to was her or Marinette. She pointedly ignored the bottles poking out of the recycling bin as she poured him some coffee. He was still noodling when she went out to the living room and put the plate and mug on the coffee table. She went back for her own latte before sitting down in the chair.

“That’s not getting out,” he said. Juleka picked at the sleeve on her cup.

“I was concerned,” she said, because he was still her stupid brother and she would never admit to being something like _worried_ , not to his face. “You didn’t text me back. Marinette was enough of a wre-”

“Phone died,” he said quickly, cutting her off. He glanced over at her, and her eyebrows rose at the almost manic look in his eyes. “It’s on the charger. Haven’t checked it yet. Sorry.”

“…are you ok?” she asked, and he laughed. That sounded a little manic, too. Broken. Hollow. She didn’t like that laugh on him, but she was hard pressed to remember the last time he’d laughed like himself. She was pretty sure it was about eight years back.

“Don’t I look it?” he asked. She frowned at him, and he closed his eyes. “I’m _fine_ , Jules. I have to be, don’t I?”

“If it’s any consolation, I thought I was helping,” she said. Her thumb flicked against the corner of the sleeve again. “I thought…I’d _hoped_ …”

“You should leave the matchmaking to Rose,” he sighed. “She’s better at it.”

“Why won’t you even give yourself a chance, Lu?” she asked, looking up at him. “You still love her. She still loves you. Don’t you think it’s worth seeing if you could be happy?”

“I’m plenty happy,” he said stubbornly. He noodled a bit more before his fingers stilled, the sound echoing with a melancholy hum. “…she doesn’t love me, Jules.”

Juleka puffed out her cheeks in frustration.

“That’s not true, though,” she huffed. She started picking at the sleeve of her cup again. “Look, I know you…I know you have this misguided idea that she’s always been in love with Adrien instead of you, and I know you still feel guilty for not being there for her when Adrien died, but _Jesus Christ_ , Lu, that was like six years ago, and –”

“It’s really not about Adrien at all,” he said brusquely, cutting her off. She raised her eyebrows at that. “She was over Adrien well before I left. What happened between us has _nothing_ to do with Adrien.”

“O…k…” Juleka said, flicking the sleeve more aggressively. “Then my point still stands. _You love her. She loves you._ You’re both single – perpetually so. And yes, maybe it’s my wife’s horrible influence, but I can’t help but feel your mutual _Forever Alone_ status has something to do with the fact that _you both still love each other._ Why are you still running from this? You could be happy together –”

“She’s already happy!” Luka snapped, jolting up so quickly his guitar fell to the floor with an echoing _clang_. Juleka didn’t even flinch. If he wasn’t so pissed at her, he might have been impressed by that. How far she had come from the painfully shy, anxiety-riddled teen she had been. He looked down at his lap and shoved a hand through his hair. His other was clenched into a fist between his knees. “She’s…she’s so _happy_ , Jules. She’s living her dream. I can’t…I can’t get in the way of that. I can’t ruin that for her.”

“You wouldn’t be ruining anything, you stupid dumbass,” Juleka said. He still wouldn’t look at her, and she pushed out a frustrated breath. “You wouldn’t be _getting in her way_. You’d be _part_ of her way. I think you both want that.”

He didn’t say anything in reply. They both sat there in stubborn silence for a long moment, until Juleka finally realized he had no intention of saying anything else. She sighed and pushed herself up, tipping her head back to drain the rest of her latte.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “If I had known…I had thought this would be good for both of you. That’s why…I never would have asked you if I’d thought…”

“She needed help,” he said. His voice sounded so small. She hated it. “You know I’ll always…”

“That’s why I don’t understand,” Juleka said, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. He didn’t look up when she squeezed. “You’ll always drop everything for her. But you won’t…I just don’t understand why you won’t give yourself a chance.”

“Maybe we already had our chance,” he mumbled, and she snorted.

“Neither of you ever had the balls to take a chance,” she scoffed. He shrank away from her, his shoulders rolling forward as he curled in on himself.

“Then maybe we just missed it,” he muttered. She bent down and kissed the top of his head, trying not to hit him in frustration.

“Funny thing about that, Lu,” she said as she straightened. He still wouldn’t look at her. “Sometimes when you’re too stupid to take a chance, it comes around again. Don’t miss your second one, dumbass.”

He swallowed thickly. He still wouldn’t look up at her.

“I thought I told you to get out,” he finally said, when he would talk. She sighed and cuffed the back of his head.

“I’m gone,” she said. A moment later the door slammed behind her.

– V –

Meeting Marinette didn’t go much better. When Juleka arrived at the studio, Marinette was kneeling beside a mannequin in the back, bent over the hem of a wedding dress as she embroidered a sprawling vine of ivy along the train. According to Jocelyn, who was busy at her desk, Marinette had been working on it most of the morning. And while that might seem _normal_ to anyone else – just Marinette, finishing up another project – Juleka had known Marinette a long time.

It was busy work at best. Something that could have easily been passed off to one of her underlings. Something she was doing to stay occupied and distract herself from…

“I’m _fine_ , Juleka,” she insisted when Juleka tried to press the matter. She rolled her eyes at Juleka’s raised eyebrow and held a hand out. “Can you hand me that green thread on the table? Thanks.”

She bent back towards the hem, and Juleka waited for her to continue. Marinette focused on rethreading her needle instead.

“You were…pretty upset,” Juleka finally said when it became clear Marinette wasn’t interested in talking. At least not about the previous night or week or the _Makeup Artist_ she’d recommended. “When we left. Rose… _I_ was worried.”

“You don’t have to be. Neither of you,” she said, glancing up at her. She smiled at her, but Juleka couldn’t help but notice how it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Honestly, Jules. It’s ok. I’m _fine_. Luka and I…we were over a long time ago, y’know? We never even really began enough to have an end.”

Juleka’s lips pursed at that. It was much the same argument she had given her brother, but it sounded worse coming from Marinette. Marinette never even paused in her stitching.

“Why should I be upset over him now?” she asked. “It’s stu…”

But she hesitated, tripped over the word just enough that Juleka couldn’t really believe her.

“It’s dumb,” she said instead. She looked up at her. She wasn’t smiling anymore. “I appreciate your concern, Juleka, but I promise I’m ok. You’re a good friend for checking on me.”

“Yeah,” Juleka mumbled as Marinette went back to her task. “The best.”

She didn’t really believe it, though. Juleka was good at a lot of things, and one of those things was building up walls to keep people out. It had taken a lot of time and a lot of patience from the right people to break her of that habit, but it had made her really good at recognizing a wall when she saw one. It hurt to see her brother and her friend so stupidly, _stubbornly_ building away, and it hurt even more to know she was at least partially to blame.

She didn’t know how she could possibly be a _good friend_ when she was the one who’d made this mess in the first place. Even worse, she didn’t know how she could be a _good friend_ when she had no idea how to fix it.


	6. Life Goes On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life moves on. Like it always does. Like it's supposed to.
> 
> ...at least...it _tries_ to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to look up for our eejits. C: The song Luka’s writing here is one I’ve mentioned before as a “Future Lukanette Reunion” one, but I’m planning on him actually singing it for Marinette next (last!) chapter, so I’ll link y’all then. C:
> 
> **Aaaaand another housekeeping note…I am trying and (I feel kinda vainly by this point) hoping to actually have Ch6 ready by Sunday. That being said, as of right now I haven’t even had a chance to start it. A tooth broke Saturday night and got Very Infected Very Fast, and it’s been a mess just getting all that sorted (on top of work and classes starting this week). This is the first day I’ve actually felt human since the weekend. (Quick keeps telling me I need to recover & not worry about the chapter being late, but I still feel like a butt for it. That being said, I’d still rather the chapter be late than awful, and I’ve just had nothing to work with this week.)**
> 
> **But I am on the mend, and I see the dentist tomorrow, and here’s hoping the last chapter won’t be too late. I hate leaving a fic in limbo like that (it’s why I don’t like posting until the fic’s done). Dx**

And so…life moved on.

Like it always does.

Like it’s supposed to.

For Marinette, it was easy. She’d already had a backlog of commissions, orders, and projects leading up to Fashion Week that had been delayed because of the event, and her success there had only made that list grow. Jocelyn was fielding phone calls and e-mails for most of the weekend, and by Monday Marinette was actually considering turning some projects down. Realistically, she had to: they just didn’t have the manpower or the finances to take everything on. _Yet._

She lost herself in her work. Meetings with new clients, sketching new designs, the steady _whirr_ of her favorite sewing machine, the satisfying hiss of a garment steamer, the repetitive pull of a needle and thread. This was her passion. This was what she was good at. This was _good_ , to keep her focused and distracted from…other things.

Because, if she was honest with herself, she really wanted to think about _Other Things_. She desperately wanted _Other Things_. But she had deadlines, and responsibilities, and… _Other Things_ didn’t want her. _Other Things_ had made that painfully clear when they’d kissed her senseless and run away as soon as she knew their name. _Other Things_ were stu… _dumb._ And that was ok! That was fine! _Other Things_ were allowed to make that choice. _Other Things_ had their own life they’d been living for almost ten years now – as had she! She was a big girl. She could take it. It wasn’t the first time she’d been rejected, and she was certain it wouldn’t be the last.

If, over the days that followed the end of Fashion Week, she pushed herself a little more and slept a little less, no one really commented on it. Her staff just attributed it to the almost manic state she always threw herself into after a big project was completed. Always moving forward – that was Marinette. Focused on her next deadline, her next goal, her next project. Never able to sit still. That was normal. No one should be concerned. It would pass eventually – it always did.

Except it was almost a week later, and she still hadn’t settled back into her usual pace. She still spent most of her time at the studio, arriving well before the others and leaving well after the last person had gone home. Some of them were starting to fear she was sleeping there, except she still appeared showered and refreshed at the start of every day. (If she’d taken to wearing a pair of sunglasses that looked like a bad Matrix rip-off on some mornings, no one commented. She was the rising name in fashion: surely she knew what was _In?_ ) She still drank too much coffee, still spent hours at a time doing custom embroidery she claimed couldn’t be trusted with anyone else (“It’s the personal touch, and with my name on the label shouldn’t that _personal touch_ be…well, mine?”). Still showed up to client meetings with charcoal on her hands from too much time sketching new designs. Still did everything she could to _keep going, keep moving, keep herself from thinking about…_

Still, they all said, it would pass. It had to.

They were just starting to grow a little afraid of the _When_.

They were all starting to realize _something_ had happened during that last show, but no one was sure how to broach the subject. Most of them had worked with Marinette in passing over the years, and they all adored her, but none of them were really close enough to press the matter. Jocelyn would be the best choice for an intervention, but Jocelyn didn’t like to overstep the boundary between professional and personal. It made things too _messy_.

Besides, Jocelyn figured Marinette would talk when she was ready, and when the time came it probably wouldn’t be with her simply because they did share more of a _professional_ relationship. Marinette would be more likely to go to one of her closer friends, like Juleka or Rose or even Alya, if she was currently in the country. Except Marinette was also ducking their calls, and the days they showed up to the studio (Juleka on Tuesday for a shoot and Rose on Thursday with coffee and a request for lunch) Marinette had claimed she was too busy to see them. She had even started avoiding her parents’ calls, and Jocelyn only knew that because Mme. Cheng had gone as far as calling the studio instead of Marinette’s personal line.

“Is Marinette there, Jocelyn, dear? We’ve been trying to reach her for a few days now, but it keeps going to voicemail,” Mme. Cheng had explained, and Jocelyn hadn’t known what to tell her. She knew Marinette had her phone, but she’d also noticed Marinette screening her calls. “It’s just we’re a bit worried. Her friend stopped by over the weekend, and she said…sorry. Is my daughter there?”

“She’s in a meeting,” Jocelyn had said, though her voice had cracked a little as the professional mask slipped. She’d cleared her throat, and she’d sounded more certain when she next spoke. “She’s going to be a while, but I can tell her to call you when she’s done.”

“No, that’s fine, dear,” Mme. Cheng had sighed. “I’ll try her tonight. Thank you, Jocelyn.”

When her father had shown up on Friday with pastries for the entire studio, she had _conveniently_ been out of the office, supposedly meeting with Audrey to discuss some details about October. When she saw M. Dupain’s disappointed face, she hadn’t had the heart to tell him Marinette had seen him coming and fled out the back door.

(Marinette had actually snuck up to the roof, hunched over her sketchbook as she tried to draw anything but… _Other Things._ Though Marinette hated lying, she had become very good at lying to herself. She had never been able to lie to her parents, though. Especially her dad.)

But she was _fine_. Ok. Totally good. Never better.

And as long as she kept herself busy, she could actually believe that.

– V –

For Luka, it was…harder. Dingo was a good distraction, but by Wednesday KK was better and he was allowed to go home. Even then, Dingo still had his own gigs he was busy with, which still left Luka a lot of time alone with thoughts he’d rather not have.

Thoughts like Marinette, standing strong in the center of a chaotic whirlwind and _thriving_ , never looking more beautiful as she took charge and navigated her team through a successful week. Thoughts like finding her asleep in his chair, or sneaking coffees and snacks her way to make sure she kept her energy up. Thoughts like the way her eyes lit up like the spring sky when she laughed at one of his stupid jokes, or the way they crinkled when she smiled at him. Thoughts like the slide of her hair, perfect strands of silk, through his fingers as he brushed it back from her face.

…thoughts like how her mouth eagerly opened for his own, the little sounds of desire she made as she pressed herself closer to him, of the bruising of her lips and the flush of her cheeks when they finally broke apart…

It wasn’t a symphony, not yet, but it held the potential to become one, if only…if only he wasn’t such a coward. Right now, it was still just a cacophonous clash of sound, too many notes and chords and threads scattering off into a potential _unknown_. He could tease it out, find the melody if he tried…but the trying was what scared him. After so long…had it been _too_ long? Even if he wanted to try, would she?

He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t. It’s not like he deserved it, not after everything.

So, at least at first, he fell back into what was simple – what was _easy_. The music from before was still clamoring for attention in the back of his mind, underneath the overwhelming pull of _Marinette_ , but every time he sat down to work on the songs he’d been writing before he’d taken that makeup gig nothing came out right. The words were cliché and stale, the music recycled, and everything seemed to clash with the snippets of song teasing him, just out of reach. It seemed the more he ignored the songs screaming _Marinette_ , the stronger they became. She was drowning out everything in her wake, and he was desperately swimming against the current, trying to escape the tide.

“If I say something, you gonna kick me out early?” Dingo asked Sunday night, his old bongos nestled in his lap. He was sitting upside-down in the armchair, tapping out an absent beat as Luka noodled in a desperate attempt to clear his mind. Luka only grunted in reply, and Dingo sighed. “Just play the song, mate. The one you _actually want_ to play, not the one you think you do.”

The only problem was…Luka wasn’t sure what he actually wanted anymore.

…which…was a lie. He did. He knew. He was just scared to admit it, or – more accurately – scared it didn’t want him back.

By Monday, he was starting to get desperate. The walls were starting to feel like they were closing in on him, so not long after Dingo had gone for the day Luka packed up his guitar, his current songwriting notebook, and his laptop and carted the lot into a practice room at Stone Rolling Records, where Penny nearly fainted when she’d seen him checking in.

“…I don’t know if I want to yell at you or hug you,” she said, looking thunderstruck. He just smiled, shrugged, and said he’d let her know when he had something.

…it had been a long while since he’d willingly shown his face at the label. He’d gone for mandatory meetings and the occasional backup play on someone else’s record – little jobs here and there to keep the rent paid and lights on – but he hadn’t actually done anything for _himself_ since the _Sunlight Tour_. If he had been anyone else – anyone but Jagged Stone’s son – his ass would have been on the street long before now. Penny had every right to be pissed at him.

…just another person he’d ended up letting down lately.

Still, the walk to the label had been refreshing, and as he settled into a small practice room on the third floor he was actually _hopeful_ he might get _something_ done.

…except that hadn’t even helped, and he’d left Monday evening feeling more frustrated than ever. When he came back Tuesday, things hadn’t gone much better – except Penny had ratted him out to his dad, and he’d looked up around two to find Jagged watching him through the glass. His arms were folded over his chest, an unreadable expression on his face as his fingers tapped against his elbow.

“Almost didn’t believe her,” he said when Luka waved him in. He dipped his head, smirking. “Almost didn’t recognize you. Not sure I like the new look, kid.”

Luka _almost_ flipped him off. Just for old time’s sake. By this point, he was starting to think he’d keep the beard just to piss everyone off.

“It’s not a _new look_ ,” Luka groused, tapping his pencil against his notebook. His eyes scanned the lyrics, frowning at the mess swirling in front of him.

_I’ve been gone for ~~how long~~ ~~too long~~_

_So long now_

_forever_

_Home – go back? Stay? Where?_

_You’re ~~home~~ my home_

**_I can’t forget you_ **

…it wasn’t the song he’d been working on. When he’d sat down that morning, he _had_ been writing about the road and how long it can feel and the ache for home, but it hadn’t been _this_. He wasn’t sure when he had stopped fiddling with the song he’d been trying to write and started writing this instead, but there was a good half a song scribbled along the page. His stomach twisted as he scanned what he had.

Everything screamed _Marinette_ , even down to the little notes about chords on hastily-scribbled staffs that had what he had long ago memorized as her heart song woven throughout.

He hated to think that Dingo had been right. That he really did need to just _write the song he actually wanted to._ That he wasn’t going to make any kind of progress until he did.

He was getting _tired_.

He was so tired of fighting her…

“You ok, kid?” Jagged asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. “Juleka called. She said…”

Jagged stopped, his words trailing off uncertainly. Like he wasn’t sure it was wise to disclose what his sister had said, or like he had noticed Luka’s focus was on his notebook and wasn’t sure he was actually listening. Luka looked up at Jagged, his hand rubbing his chin as he mulled over the snippets of song still running through his head.

…his face was too scratchy.

“Hey…do you have a razor anywhere around here?” he asked, and Jagged’s eyebrows rose. Luka put Devereaux down on a stand, and Jagged nodded towards the door.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Follow me.”

Jagged didn’t say anything else as Luka occupied his private bathroom. He did linger in the doorway, like there was more he wanted to say but was unsure if his _advice_ would be welcome (it wasn’t always, not when it came to things outside of the _Biz_ ). But Luka kept his focus on his face, on applying the shaving cream, on running the razor in even lines along his cheeks. And, sure enough, before long Penny was at the door telling Jagged about some important meeting he was late for, and then he was turning to go.

“…I’m here if you need to talk, kid,” he said, his hand flexing like he was going to reach for him, but it remained at his side. Luka caught his eyes in the mirror, and though he still didn’t say anything he did nod. That seemed good enough for the old man, who tried to give him a smile before disappearing with Penny.

Luka picked up some dye on his way home. When he returned to the studio on Wednesday, he actually looked like himself again. When he sat down in the practice room he’d been holed up in the entire week, settled Devereaux on his lap, and started picking out the tune that hadn’t left him alone since soft lips and darkened blue eyes, he finally felt like himself, too.

By the time Friday rolled around, the song was nearly complete and his notebook was scribbled with half a dozen other starts that all screamed of missed opportunities and new beginnings and…

“You’re gonna have an album,” Penny hummed Saturday night as she flipped through his notes. Jagged sat beside her, his head bopping along to the song playing in the headphones covering his ears. From the grin on his face, Luka knew he liked it. Penny looked up from his notes, a smile curling her lips. “So. Your third studio album. It’s been a while since the last one. What are we gonna call it?”

Luka was almost brave enough to smile when Jagged took the headphones off, whooping and hollering about how _totally rock-n-roll_ the track was – which was…weird, considering it was technically a ballad, and the demo had been an acoustic ballad at that. He looked down at his notes as Penny handed the book back to him, a nervous wriggling in his gut.

“…not sure yet,” Luka answered, running his thumb under a bit of lyrics he was still teasing out (something-something about journeys and endings that actually weren’t), “but I was thinking _Second Chance._ ”

– V –

Juleka gave it a week. Maybe a little over a week. The second Monday after Fashion Week, eight days after she had last seen Marinette (but only two days since her last text had been met with an irritated _omg Juleka stop pestering I Am FINE_ ), she was back in the studio of MDC Designs for the final fitting of a dress she’d be wearing to a charity event the next week. Something about the Audubon or starving children or wetlands or _something_ – it was more Rose’s function, and Juleka was just going as “arm candy”, according to her wife.

She had been reaching out to Marinette – to both of them – all week, but neither had been very responsive. Luka would tell her nothing, insisting that he was “busy” and “fine” and “lay off, Jules.” Dingo wasn’t even much help: even though he’d been staying with her brother, he’d hardly seen him. Apparently Luka was back in the studio and had completely thrown himself into his next project. Dingo _had_ sent her a picture Wednesday afternoon, though, showing Luka had finally started grooming himself again. Juleka supposed that was _something_. It had been good to see his blue hair again.

As for Marinette…Marinette was willing to discuss work. She was willing to discuss future photo shoots and modelling commitments. She was willing to discuss final touches on her dress. She was even willing to discuss Rose and Angie. She was not, however, willing to discuss Luka – or any use of the word ‘stupid’, which Juleka thought was just… _stupid_. After she had snapped at her over text – and called Rose to vent – two days ago, Juleka had stopped asking.

So she was a little… _apprehensive_ when she walked into the studio on Monday. She wasn’t quite sure how Marinette would react to her. Juleka had learned years ago there was nothing worse than an annoyed designer during a fitting, and she hoped Marinette wouldn’t be _too_ cross with her. She was a little relieved to see a smile on Marinette’s face when she came out of her office, sipping a mug of tea, and waved her over. She even hugged her in greeting.

Juleka was still apprehensive, but Marinette had been her friend a long time. She followed her lead, unwilling to let her stupid brother jeopardize that (at least…any more than he already had).

“Hey!” she said, still smiling as she led her to the corner with the raised platform and mirrors they used for final fittings. A garment bag was hanging off the changing screen. “I think you’re really gonna like this, Jules. I can’t wait to see _you_ in white.”

“I’m doing it for Rose,” Juleka sniffed, and Marinette giggled.

“You’re gonna look great,” she said, unzipping the bag. Juleka smiled when she saw her dress. It was a simple party dress, with an empire waist that was bunched up by a deep violet ribbon that tied in a bow in the back. The dress would flare out to her knees, and the sleeves were ruched bell caps made of a sheer fabric. The dress itself was white, but flowers – _roses_ – of varying shades of purple covered the skirt and bust. It was a garden party dress, and it matched the dress Rose was planning on wearing that was white with pink roses. She had no idea Marinette and Juleka had planned this dress, and Juleka couldn’t wait to see her reaction. Marinette had even made a wide-brimmed garden hat in cream with matching purple ribbon to complete the look.

“I love it,” Juleka said, smiling at her. She noticed Marinette’s answering smile was subdued, but she didn’t comment. Marinette patted her shoulder and nodded towards the changing screen.

“Get dressed,” she instructed. “I want to make sure the hem’s right.”

When Juleka came out from behind the screen, Marinette was on her phone. Her lower lip was pulled between her teeth, and her thumbs were anxiously tapping the sides of the device. She started to type something, but by the way she quickly, repeatedly hit a button near the bottom Juleka assumed she was immediately deleting it. She did this two more times, completely ignorant of Juleka’s presence, before Juleka cleared her throat. Marinette jumped, and that not-really-false-but-not-really-true-either smile that wasn’t really fooling Juleka anymore immediately came back to her face. Juleka sighed and stepped up onto the platform, giving a little twirl that flared her hair and the skirt out.

“Well?” she asked, posing once the twirl was done. “How do I look?”

“Amazing,” Marinette said. Her smile was warmer that time, more honest. “The prettiest Couffaine I know.”

…it dimmed again as soon as she said that, and Juleka didn’t miss the way her grip tightened on her phone.

“I won’t let the other Mme. Couffaine know,” Juleka said, winking at her before turning towards the mirrors. She smiled and smoothed a hand over the dress. “It’s beautiful, Marinette. Rose is going to love it.”

“Do _you_ love it, though? It’s not your usual color,” Marinette asked. She slipped her phone into her back pocket before stepping onto the dais. She walked a slow circle around Juleka, prodding and lifting the dress in places to make sure the fit was right. The plus side of having a relationship – both personal and professional – as long as theirs was that Marinette knew her measurements and usually had very little alterations to make on her clothes any more. Most of what she was doing now was just Marinette being _finicky_. The dress looked perfect to Juleka.

“I do,” she said, grinning at her friend.

“Really? Even your wedding dress was black,” Marinette teased, and Juleka snorted before looking back in the mirror.

“Rose let me get away with that,” she said. “I can pull out some white for her every now and then, especially for an MDC original. You did an amazing job, Mari.”

Marinette smiled, ducking her head as she adjusted the bow on her back. Juleka watched her in the mirror. She looked like she was stalling. Like there was more she wanted to say, or something she wanted to ask, but…

“Mari?” she asked, and Marinette jumped. She was still fidgeting with the bow. “You ok?” Marinette’s face started to fall, and Juleka held up her hands. “I’m not talking about…unless you _want_ to talk about…it’s just…you look… _distracted_. Like…”

“…like I’m not ok?” Marinette asked quietly, looking back at her bow. It was sewn in place, but Juleka as pretty sure she’d undo it just to tie it again if she could. “I…it’s…just that…”

Juleka reached behind her for Marinette’s hands, covering them and squeezing. Marinette didn’t look up at her, though.

“He misses you, too,” she said, and Marinette sucked in a sharp breath. She raised her head, her eyes wide. Juleka’s heart twisted in her chest. “He won’t talk to me about it. About you. Or…anything, really. That’s how I know he’s missing you. He’s not…he’s not doing ok.”

The look on Marinette’s face broke Juleka’s heart. She turned and pulled Marinette into a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Marinette,” she said. “I never meant…I never thought…”

Juleka didn’t want to tell that she had thought – _hoped_ – that if she could just get them in the same room…

Rose had thought that three years back, though, back when they’d gotten married and had hoped that if Marinette was her maid of honor and Luka was Juleka’s best man…there had been some emergency in New York that had pulled Marinette out of the wedding last minute, though, and it had just become one more in another long line of missed opportunities. She should have learned back then.

Luka was right. She really did need to leave the matchmaking stuff to Rose. She was shit at it.

“…I want to talk to him,” Marinette finally said, her voice muffled against Juleka’s shoulder. She ducked her head, burrowing closer as her hold on her tightened. “I just…I don’t know how anymore. It was so easy when I didn’t know it was _him_ , but now…what do I even say, Jules? It’s been _eight years_.”

Juleka reached behind her and slipped her phone out of her pocket. She patted Marinette’s shoulder and smiled when she stepped back. Marinette watched her, her brow furrowing in confusion as Juleka unlocked her phone and pulled up her contacts.

“You start with _hello_ ,” she said, and she started to type Luka’s number into a new contact. Her eyebrows rose when she was halfway through the number and an existing contact – _Stupid Couffaine_ – popped up. She snickered and tapped on it. “And then do what I do and call him a fucking idiot.”

“Juleka…” Marinette laughed, reaching up to rub at her eyes. Juleka bit down on a smile when a blank text chain popped up under her brother’s ‘name’. There was a message, long and rambly and half-deleted, waiting to be sent in the drafts. She held up the phone and smirked at Marinette. Marinette’s face turned a lovely shade of pink, and she looked back at their feet. “J-Jocelyn had his number, from sending him the schedule. It’s technically in our personnel files now? And…I know I should just drop it, because he’s clearly not interested, but…”

“Call him, Marinette,” Juleka said, putting the phone back in her hand. She wrapped Marinette’s fingers around the device and patted them, smiling at her. “I don’t know what exactly happened between you two, but…he’s too damn _noble_ for his own good. For whatever reason, he thinks _this_ is better than…he thinks you’re _happy_. Are you happy, Marinette?”

“Yes!” Marinette said indignantly, automatically, and Juleka lifted a brow at her. She looked back at her phone and bit her lip. “But…I could be happier…”

“See? My point exactly. He’s not going to make the first move as long as he thinks this is what’s best for you,” Juleka said, rolling her eyes. She squeezed her hand again. “And it’s obviously not. What’s best for you is an entire bridal party wearing _I’m with Stupid_ t-shirts when we haul your ass down the aisle.”

Marinette choked on a little laugh, her hand jerking from Juleka’s to slap over her mouth. Juleka tucked that idea away for later: they should probably go on at least one date before they started planning the wedding (even if she was pretty sure Marinette had been planning the wedding since she was thirteen – _maybe_ fifteen).

“ _Call him_ ,” Juleka said once Marinette had stopped giggling. “Please.”

Marinette’s smile was hesitant when she looked back up at her, but it was the truest smile Juleka had seen from her all morning. She grinned in return and patted her hands a final time before turning back to the mirrors. She placed her hands on her hips and posed, smirking at Marinette’s reflection.

“But after I leave,” she said. “You two are gonna get _gross_ pretty fast, and I don’t need to see that.”

Marinette snorted, and then she was laughing, and Juleka’s smile warmed as she watched her old friend.

There just might be hope for her favorite idiots yet.

– V –

They agreed to keep the dress at the studio, to keep it a surprise for Rose. The event wasn’t until next week, and Juleka would stop by the morning of – after Rose had left for work – to pick it up. With her fitting done, she had given Marinette one last hug and a reminder to _call her stupid brother_ before leaving to check up on said _stupid brother_.

She figured it would be harder for him to avoid her if she took up residence in his living room. One way or another, she was getting that idiot to talk.

When she arrived at his flat, though, she could hear music playing in the hall. She hesitated, her hand raised to knock, and listened. She could hear his voice beneath a jaunty guitar, but it was too low to actually hear what he was singing. The music was…almost…hopeful? There was something bittersweet about it, yes, but she couldn’t deny the overtone of _hope_ bouncing along the notes. She pressed her lips into a firm line, refusing to buy into that hope until she’d seen him for herself, and knocked. She waited a moment with no answer, the music continuing undisturbed, before knocking again. When he still failed to respond, she rolled her eyes and dug out her key.

He was on the couch again, lying on his back with Devereaux on his stomach. His head was on the arm of the couch closer to the door, but his eyes were closed and he was wearing a bulky pair of headphones that were plugged into the laptop on his coffee table. Claire sat in a stand by the other end of the couch, and the floor was littered with crumpled papers, crushed energy drink cans, and coffee cups. There was another mug, half-full, steaming away by his laptop.

The flat was a mess, but he wasn’t. Despite the disarray around them, she could actually see his chin. The beard really was gone, and there wasn’t even a hint of stubble to suggest he’d be growing it back. The hair flipped back with the headphones was tipped blue. The circles under his eyes were…still there, but less prominent. Glancing at his nails, Juleka could see he’d even taken the time to touch them up. He almost looked _presentable._

She didn’t know what to make of that. Even with Dingo’s photo from the previous week to prove otherwise, she had honestly expected to find worse. If she was being completely honest, she had fully expected she’d have to haul his sorry ass into the shower herself. This…this was almost as hopeful as the song he was playing.

He bobbed his head as he continued to play, humming.

“…hope that’s you standing at my doorway, and that’s the scratching of your key…” he sang, his brow furrowing as he continued to strum. He took a breath and held it. “Hope this song I’m singing someday finds you…wherever you may be…”

Juleka felt her throat tighten. Did he…had he…?

Luka jumped when she walked over to him and slapped the back of his head. He almost dropped his guitar as he flailed into a sitting position, one arm holding it close while the other reached up to remove his headphones. He blinked stupidly at her, taking a moment to reorient as he came out of…well, honestly she wasn’t sure. If it had been any other day she would have just said he was lost in a creative daze, so far into the Zone that anyone could have broken in and robbed him blind and he’d never notice. This, though…she couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it than just being a _Starving Artist_. She hoped she was right.

“J-Jules?” he asked, still blinking owlishly at her. He rubbed at his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear it. “What are you…?”

“Play it again,” she ordered. His eyes widened. She brushed some paper off the armchair and sat down, crossing her legs and folding her arms over her chest in a power move only someone as intimidating as Juleka Couffaine could get away with. She dipped her head towards him and glanced at the guitar. “Play it again, Luka. I want to hear it. The whole thing.”

“…it’s not…it’s…” he started, but she shook her head.

“Don’t give me that bullshit about _it’s not done_ ,” she said. “It’s obviously done enough. Play.”

“It’s done,” he said, shoving a hand into his hair. “That’s not it. I just…I had to play it for Penny and Jagged, but…”

Juleka’s eyebrow lifted higher, and he looked away from her.

“I don’t want to make the same mistake, Jules,” he said. His fingers tapped anxiously against the body of his guitar, hollow little beats that filled the silence between them. “She should hear it first. Before…”

“I’m not the world, Lu,” Juleka said. She didn’t think she was as successful at hiding the annoyance in her voice as she had hoped. He glared at her, and she returned it in kind. “I’m the one who’s been trying to make sure you don’t fuck this up _again_. So go on. Play.”

So he did. If “Sunlight” had left any question in anyone’s mind, this song would erase it. There was no doubt who he could possibly be singing for in Juleka’s mind, especially when he got to the second verse and mentioned _polka-dotted shoes_. And then he was at the final chorus, and he was strumming the final chords, and Juleka continued to sit there as they echoed between them. His hand was gripping his knee, his mouth shut and jaw clenched so tight she could almost see the veins pop out on his neck. A long moment passed as she just sat there, watching him, before she finally stood. She scooped his phone up off the table and unlocked it.

“What are you –” he started, moving to get up and take his phone back. She turned away from him, taking a few steps as her thumbs flew over the screen. She heard him make a frustrated noise, but she didn’t care. She was frustrated, too. “Juleka. What the hell are you –”

“Don’t you _dare_ start with me, you ass,” she bit. He hadn’t heard that much venom in her voice in a long while, especially not directed at him. Before he could question her again, she had finished fiddling with his phone. She turned sharply, stomped back over to him, and slapped it against his chest. Her eyes were narrowed in a furious glare. “There. Now you have her number. Luka Llewellyn Couffaine, I swear to all that is unholy, if you go another ten years without speaking to her I will dedicate the rest of my life to making yours as miserable as possible – which really won’t be hard, once you’ve ruined it yourself, but I will do my level best. _Fucking call her._ ”

“Juleka, I –” he started, but she only pressed the phone harder into his chest.

“Call. Her,” she commanded. Her expression softened when she noticed the way he was staring at her, as if he was terrified, and she raised her free hand to cup his cheek. “I like her, Lu. She’s one of my closest friends. As sister-in-laws go, you could do a lot worse.”

He took his phone from her, his eyes staying on the screen as he unlocked it. He swallowed when Marinette’s name appeared in tall, proud lettering at the top of the screen. Juleka had even somehow managed to include a photo, and…he looked up when Juleka squeezed his shoulder.

“Call her,” she said, nodding to the phone. “I think it’s going to go a lot better than you’re thinking. Dumbass.”

She patted his shoulder before turning back to the chair. She picked her purse up and zipped her coat up, taking a final look around the flat.

“Though you might also want to consider cleaning up a bit,” she said dryly, kicking at an empty Red Bull can. “If you actually manage to take her home without fucking up again…you definitely won’t keep her like this.”

“Juleka!” he laughed, though it sounded more like a whine in her ears. She smirked and waved at him.

“Call her!” she ordered one last time before slamming the door behind her.

– V –

Luka didn’t move for a long time after Juleka left. He stayed on the couch, his phone in his shaking hand, staring down at the new contact in his phone. His eyes scanned over her number so many times he was pretty sure he’d memorized it. The picture was…it looked like a professional shot. Probably pulled from her website or a news article or…he’d have to replace it. If she’d let him take a better one. But it was still her, and it was a hell of a lot more current than any other picture of her he had. He swallowed thickly as his thumb ghosted over her face, her blue eyes shining up at him.

Juleka was right.

He had to call her.

He had…he had to play her the song. The new one.

They had to talk about Fashion Week. About when he’d left, and when he hadn’t come back, and all the time in between. About how stupid he’d been for so long now.

He knew all this. He _wanted_ this. He just…didn’t know where to start.

He pulled up a new text thread. Maybe calling her wasn’t the answer, not at first. Maybe he just needed to text her. Just…something to open up the communication.

_LC: hey mari. jules gave me your number. it’s luka. can we talk?_

He pursed his lips, frowning. That didn’t sound right. Somehow, he’d managed to sound both entirely too familiar and too formal at the same time.

_LC: marinette. it’s luka. i’m so sorry. i should have_

He deleted that one, too.

_LC: it’s luka. we need to talk._

He groaned and flopped back, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. This was so _stupid!_ He was stupid! All he had to do –

He yelped and nearly threw his phone across the room when it started buzzing in his hand. His stomach fell to his feet when he looked at the screen and saw _Marinette_ was calling, her smiling face filling the screen. His thumb shook as it hovered over the _Accept Call_ button. He closed his eyes and took a breath. He was being _stupid_. He just had to answer the call. _She was calling him_. That had to mean…but as soon as his thumb tapped the screen, it switched to a _Missed Call_ notification before going black.

“…shit,” he groaned, hanging his head. The phone started ringing again almost immediately, and his head snapped up to see _she was_ _calling him again_. He slammed his thumb against the screen and brought it up to his ear. “Marinette?”

“Don’t!” she shouted, and he almost dropped the phone again at her tone and volume. He slumped back against the couch and nodded, even though he knew she couldn’t hear a nod. He swallowed, his throat suddenly painfully dry.

“O-ok,” he said. She made a frustrated little noise, and he bit his lip to keep from saying anything else.

“You…ok. I need to say something. A couple things. And you need to hear them. You need to _listen_ to me, Luka Couffaine. Ok?” she asked, and when he didn’t answer she made another frustrated noise. “You can answer that one.”

“…ok,” he said. Despite how annoyed she was, he found himself smiling. His arm wrapped around his stomach, his fingers drumming against his side as he waited for her to continue. He found he didn’t care that she sounded like she was about to rip him a new one: _she was talking to him_ , and that in itself almost made him giddy.

…God, he was pathetic.

“Ok,” she said. He could hear a _tap-tap-tapping_ , like heels on hardwood, and imagined she was pacing. “Luka Couffaine, you are an _idiot_. You are _stupid!_ A great, big, stupid idiot! You don’t get to decide if I know who you are or not – you don’t get to decide I never get to see you or talk to you again! You don’t get to choose those things _for_ me _without_ me! We were _friends_ , Luka. I was in love with you! And I get that life happened and we got busy and…but you just _disappeared_ , and you never told me _why_ , and I never knew what I did wrong, and then you’re back and you still won’t…you are such an _asshole!_ ”

“Marinette, I –” he started, but she screamed again.

“I’m still talking!” she snapped. She didn’t continue, though. She sounded like she was crying. “ _Damn it_ , Luka! I’ve missed you! I have missed you for eight years, and I know that’s just as much my fault as it is yours, but you don’t get to just run away without –”

“MARINETTE!” he called, shouting over her.

“What?!” she shouted back, and he laughed as he slapped a hand over his eyes. God, he loved her…

“Can we…do you wanna grab a coffee?” he asked, smiling when he heard her suck in a breath. “Like…soon? Or now? Where are you? I can do now. I can do whenever. I’m not running away this time, Marinette. I’m not. I promise. I’m never running away from you again.”

“I…” she started to say, or at least he thought she had. She took a few more breaths before she finally answered him. “Yes. That…coffee would be good.”

“Now?” he asked, glancing at where Devereaux was propped against the couch. He was mostly presentable. He just had to grab his case and then…

“I’m at work,” she said, though she didn’t sound like she really wanted to stay there. He smiled as she groaned. “Can you…I have a few more things to wrap up and a meeting in an hour. Would…is tonight ok?”

“Are you asking me to dinner instead?” he asked, and the spluttering squeak she made had him laughing.

“Start with coffee,” she finally said, but he could hear the smile in her voice. “ _Maybe_ I’ll buy you a panini. If you’re not _Stupid_ anymore.”

“That’s gonna be hard,” he said. “I’m usually _Stupid_ when it comes to you. Ask Juleka.”

“I don’t need to ask Juleka,” she huffed. “You’ve proven it plenty of times yourself.”

“Four o’clock? Or five, if that’s better?” he asked, and she hummed, agreeing to five. “I can pick you up? Or…meet somewhere? Whatever you want, Marinette. You’re in charge here.”

“…you’re really not running away this time?” she asked. Another broken chuckle escaped him. He grinned up at the ceiling.

“I’m not running away this time,” he said. “Not unless you want me to.”

He really, really hoped she didn’t want him to.

They hashed out the details, agreeing to meet at a café that was about a ten minute walk from her studio. It was a little farther from his flat, but he didn’t care. As long as she was there waiting for him, he’d walk the entire city. He wasn’t going to fuck this up again.

“It’s a date,” he said, and he smiled when he heard her suck in another breath.

“It’s _coffee_ ,” she insisted, but he could still hear her smile. When she hung up, he dropped his arm over his eyes and tried not to grin like the idiot he was.

…it was a date.


End file.
